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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Last lingering


& when the summers swarms half namless fled 
& autumns landscape faded bleak & wild 
When leaves gun fall & show their berries red 
Still with the season woud I be beguild 
Lone spots to seek home leaving far behind 
Were wildness rears her lings & teazle burs 
& were last lingering of the flowery kind 
Blue heath bells tremble neath the sheltering furze 
Sweet was such walks on the half barren wild 
Which ploughs leave quiet with their briars & brakes 
Prospects of freedom pleasing from a child 
To track the crookd pad which the rabbit makes


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A ruby crown


The sun he goes down wi a ruby crown
To a gold and crimson bed
And the falling dew from heaven so blue
Hang[s] like pearls on Phoebe's head
Love leave the town

Come thou with me neath the green leaf tree
We'll crop the bonny sweet brere
Oh come dear maid neath the hazle wood shade
For love invites us here
Come then wi' me

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A venerable tree


I never pass a venerable tree
Pining away to nothingness & dust
Ruins vain shades of power I never see
Once dedicated to times cheating trust
But warm reflection wakes her saddest thought
& views lifes vanity in cheerless light
& sees earths bubbles youth so eager sought
Burst into emptiness of lost delight
& all the pictures of lifes early day
Like evenings striding shadows haste away
Yet theres a glimmering of pleasure springs
From such reflections of earths vanity
That pines & sickens oer lifes mortal things
& leaves a relish for eternity


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Of blackberries and stickers


Blackberrying may appear to be a trivial subject in John Clare's poetry, generally referred to in passing as a characteristic autumnal activity, along with collecting elderberries to make wine, or hazel nuts, or mushrooms, or water-cress, or gathering rotten wood for the cottage-fire.  Essentially, it is not different from those other rural activities, which formed part of the cottager's economy in every part of Europe.

 

In the English fens, the inhabitants believed that the produce of the wasteland came to them by right.  Also in the fens: "At dusk, the passer-by might be confronted by silently-moving lines of shadowy figures, their backs bent under the weight of trunks and piled-up wood, as they headed for home". Clare referred to this wood as "rotten," omitting the word "wood" occasionally.

 

Where stickers stroll from day to day

And gather loads of rotten wood

And poachers left in safety stray

When midnight wears its deepest mood.

(from Walks in the Woods)

 

Clare's natural sympathies are with the "stickers," as he calls them: the "wood-men," on the other hand, the agents of the landowners, are "terrifying rascals" who "make a prison of the forrests and are its joalers." (sic) Just as the fallen wood belonged by right to the local inhabitants in the forests in all parts of Europe, so, according to popular belief, did the fallen wood belong to the locals near the oak woods of Stamford, and, in both regions, led to conflict between landowners and peasants, between the lord's steward and gypsies, or the woodman and villagers.

 

The conflict over wood extended to other products of the waste -- rabbits, hares, birds, withies, reeds, cresses, sloes, dewberries, nuts, mushrooms, elderberries, wild strawberries and blackberries, not to mention eggs, snakes, deer, eels, fish, and other edibles.  The custom of nutting, which Clare celebrates, was particularly disliked by the landowners, their servants and the tenant-farmers.  The pages of the Stamford Mercury and Drakard's Stamford News are filled with advertisements and articles regarding the practice; the Mercury, upholding the rights of the landowners, the News those of the rural population.


(Robinson & Rowe)


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Non

The night wind


The night wind now with sooty wings

In the cotters chimney sings
Now as stretching oer the bed
Soft I raise my drowsy head
Listening to the ushering charms
That shake the elm tree's mossy arms
Till sweet slumbers stronger creep
Deeper darkness stealing round
Then as rocked I sink to sleep
Mid the wild winds lulling sound

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Soothing scene


One gloomy eve I roamed about

  Neath Oxeys hazel bowers
While timid hares were darting out
  To crop the dewy flowers
& soothing was the scene to me
  Right pleased was my soul
My breast was calm as summers sea
  When waves forget to roll
  
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