A ruin of the past


Summers pleasures they are gone like to visions every one

& the cloudy days of autumn & of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart & eye & forever far away
Dear heart & can it be that such raptures meet decay
I thought them all eternal when by Langley Bush I lay
I thought them joys eternal when I used to shout & play
On its bank at “clink & bandy” “chock” & “taw” & “ducking stone”
Where silence sitteth now on the wild heath as her own
Like a ruin of the past all alone


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Pleasant way


There is a path a little path
Goes winding thru the meadow hay 

That leadeth on oer many a swath 
A sweet and pleasant way
& heres a stile to rest upon
& see the arches all anew
That carrys the traveller safely on 

When wild floods roar below 


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Misthress Leythess


Clare having fun with language...

& the blak sale   mathem    was fer the reform bill lost in the howse of Lords    & if they downt plase to down o there nappers & loke far it agin I wud niver to go to have prares in thet howse agin      as Humfrey seys    far as thoff it be ritten on a bit of  parchmen no biger then your fingor it will nat tak the lukin far as the needal in the battel of hay did & so thay hav no exchuse bot to find it 

            yours ever to admirashun dare mat-hem   exchuse hast & botherashun far Im ap to my elbos in sads & the buk thub

Och the mobs    Misthress Leythess    the mabs thare ane man dun morthashuns of mischeef wid a fire shovel       he bite an officher of chalvery at the pint of his swurd most shamefuly    & Humfrey seys no mather for that    thow hees no rabel    bot hee will hev it thet the kings consitushuns ar no bisnes to be pat in jeporde at the rong end of a dradm swurd      to beshure Mathern    its all well enuff to be at the handel, thets safe enuf for sartin        bot yu no the kalverey ar gentemen & we musthent be afther kapin solders far doinin nathin   thets sartin    & so peceable fokes mast kape throm owt o the wey o the powther & uthe[r] dangerus mortashüns

           bot wat a strange thing thet the man wid the fire showel shud cum oif the ero Mathem     but lard bles yu   he wor prothekted by providence & as thof he was nat doin the rite thing

A single page from the Lettys Correspondence:
'Memoirs of Uncle Barnaby'
(Arbour Editions - 2017)


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Sauntering noisless


So dreamy is the light that dwells around 

& so refreshing is its sombre mood 

We feel at once shut out from sun & sky 

All the deliciousness of solitude 

While sauntering noisless oer the leafy ground
The air we breath seems loosing every trace 

Of earth & all its trouble & the mind


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Beautiful & new


Clouds rack & drive before the wind

In shapes & forms of every kind
Like waves that rise without the roar
& rocks that guard an untrodden shore
Now castles pass majestic by
& ships in peaceful havens lie
These gone ten thousand shapes ensue
For ever beautiful & new


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Quiet moods


I love to walk the fields they are to me

A legacy no evil can destroy
They like a spell set every rapture free
That cheered me when a boy
Play--pastime--all times blotting pen concealed
Comes like a new-born joy
To greet me in the field

For natures objects ever harmonize
With emulous taste that vulgar deed annoys
It loves in quiet moods to sympathize
& meet vibrating joys
Oer natures pleasant things nor will it deem
Pastime the muse employs
A vain obtrusive theme


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The sallows


The sallows glisten in their gay palm bloom

Studded with golden down where earliest come
The solitary wild bees that servive
Their trance & ere the tenants of the hive
Dare venure out are searching field & wood
& from scarce blossoms seeking scanty food
Hanging there yet half doubtful hopes along
& humming wearily a lonly song


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