Rut rifted-lane

The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane
Where the wild roses hang and the woodbines entwine,
And the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again
Round the side of the tavern close by the sign.
The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen,
In curtains the richest that ever were seen.

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So lovley and red

To see the sun rise thro the skirts of the wood
In his mantle so lovley and red
It cheers up my spirits & does me much good
As thro the cold stubbles I tred
Tho not that his beams more advances the scene
Or adds to the Landscape a charm
But all that delights me by him may be seen
That the ensuing hours will be warm

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

My pleasing stream

And here the Cowboy lov'd to sit

And  plate his rushy thongs

And dabble in the fancied pit

And chase the Minnow throngs

And when thou didst thy horses tend

Or drive the ploughmans team

Thy mind did natturally bend

Towards my pleasing stream

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Image ‘River Bend’ by #CarryAkroyd

Will bloom again

The open flower the loaded bough

The fields of spindling grain

Were blooming then the same as now

& so will bloom again

When with the past my being dies

Still summer suns shall shine

& other eyes shall see them rise

When death has darkened mine

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Harmless pleasures

My sundays harmless pleasures were forsook
Nor turnd my rambles to the pasture brook
Were in my youth at ‘Eastwells’ fountain side
Which winters never froze nor summer dryd
Young men & maidens usd to talk & play
In the cool shadows of its willows grey
Drinking loves healths in totts of sugard drink
On the soft swellings of its rushy brink

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Meadow river rill

The scene begins to look divine
We'll by the river walk
Her arm already seems in mine
& fancy hears her talk
A vision this of early love
The meadow river rill
Scenes where I walked with Mary Dove
Are in my memory still

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Green light of trees

I lovd the dear haunts of the sweet solitudes

That round its lome walls in the circle do lye

Were no living thing all the season intrudes

But a bird or a bee humming wearisome bye

& Ive hunted for spots by the brook & have found

The lonliest existing an hour to abide

With nought but the green light of trees flitting round

& the shadow that seemed stretchd asleep by my side

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Image by my friend #RachelBurch

White Easter of the year

It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress
White Easter of the year in bud
That makes the winter Spring
The frost & snow his posies bring
Natures white spurts of the spring

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Nakedness I love

I love thee nature in my inmost heart
Go where I will thy truth seems from above
Go where I will thy landscape forms a part
Of heaven—e'en these fens where wood nor grove
Are seen—their very nakedness I love
For one dwells nigh that secret hopes prefer
Above the race of women—like the dove
I mourn her abscence—fate that would deter
My hate for all things—strengthens love for her

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Crows

How peaceable it seems for lonely men
To see a crow fly in the thin blue sky
Over the woods and fealds oer level fen
It speaks of villages or cottage nigh
Behind the neighbouring woods -- when March winds high
Tear off the branches of the huge old oak
I love to see these chimney sweeps sail by
& hear them oer gnarled forest croak
I love the sooty crow nor would provoke
Its march day exercises of croaking joy
I love to see it sailing to and fro
While feelds & woods & waters spread below

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

I am

I am — yet what I am, none cares or knows;

My friends forsake me like a memory lost: —
I am the self-consumer of my woes; —
They rise and vanish in oblivion's host,
Like shadows in love's frenzied stifled throes: —
And yet I am, and live — like vapours tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, —
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my lifes esteems;
Even the dearest, that I love the best
Are strange — nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes, where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God;
And sleep as I in childhood, sweetly slept,
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below — above the vaulted sky.

  

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Gloomy hue

Long sweeping bends of croppings brightning green

That wind along the vallies sheltering crown
Large swelling hills that nauntle up the scene
Which winters pencil tips wi bleachy brown

Here steeple points & there a misty town
As stretching thro each opening to be seen
& woods enlivning from their gloomy hue
To sprout in freshness—while the heath hills lean

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Image by my farmer friend #SarahBurch

Untroubled rest

O for that sweet, untroubled rest
That poets oft have sung!--
The babe upon its mother's breast,
The bird upon its young,
The heart asleep without a pain--
When shall I know that sleep again?

The sheep within the fallow field,
The herd upon the green,
The larks that in the thistle shield,
And pipe from morn to e'en--
O for the pasture, fields, and fen!
When shall I see such rest again?

  

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Image by my farmer friend #JohnAbbott

Humming rage begin

The ploughman hears its humming rage begin,
And hies for shelter from his naked toil;
Buttoning his doublet closer to his chin,
He bends and scampers oer the elting soil,
While clouds above him in wild fury boil,
And winds drive heavily the beating rain;
He turns his back to catch his breath awhile,
Then ekes his speed and faces it again,
To seek the shepherd's hut beside the rushy plain.

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Crashing blast

So in the moment of that crashing blast

Eyes hearts & hopes pausd trembling for the last

& sudden thunder claps with yawning rents

Gashd the frail garments of the elements

& bursting wirlwinds wingd in purple flame

& lightnings flash in stronger terrors came

Burning all life & nature were they fell

& leaving earth as desolate as hell

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Such a sweet day

Why are ye silent

Birds where do ye fly

Winters not violent

Wi such a spring sky

The wheatlands are green snow & frost is away

Birds why are ye silent on such a sweet day

By the slated pigstye the red breast whispers

Where brown leaves lye the  hedge sparrow lispers

But why is the chaffinch and bullfinch so still

While the sulphur primroses bedeck the wood hill

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The pride of the green

Near a grove of tall trees stretching far oer the pool

Whose broad shadows darken the stream as it flows

Where in summer the breeze from the waters so cool

Refreshes the flocks with a welcome repose

There nurs'd in a humble thatch'd cot that stands nigh

A sweet lovely blossom blooms lowly unseen

& call'd by the shepherds that wander hard by

The lovley Jeannette the pride of the green

(Unpublished)

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Moorey ground

Far spread the moorey ground a level scene

Bespread with rush & one eternal green

That never felt the rage of blundering plough

Though centurys wreathed springs blossoms on its brow

Still meeting plains that stretched them far away

In uncheckt shadows of green brown & grey

Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene

Nor fence of ownership crept in between

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Neath the shed

Up to our chamber windows thwart the sky 

The clouds like bright volcanoes slumber by 

Slowly & grand Toil early out of doors

Goes praising the sweet time devoid of sorrow 

& prophesies the cuckoos song to-morrow 

Birds hop about each hedge & by the stack 

The small wren twits with tail cocked oer his back

Building his nest right early neath the shed 

Where cows in winter found a pleasant bed 

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Kindld to a blaze

The sun now sinks behind the woodland green 

& twittering spangles glow the leaves between 

So bright & dazzling on the eye it plays 

As if noons heats had kindld to a blaze 

But soon it dims in red & heavier hues 

& shows wild fancy cheated in her views 

A mist like moister rises from the ground 

& deeper blueness stains the distant round 

The eye each moment as it gazes oer 

Still loosing objects which it markd before

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Shining like guineas

Tis May and yet the March flower Dandelion 

Is still in bloom among the Emerald grass 

Shining like guineas with the suns warm eye on 

We almost think they are gold as we pass 

Or fallen stars on a green sea of grass 

The[y] shine in fields on waste grounds near the town 

They closed like painters brush when even was 

At length they turn to nothing else but down 

While the rude winds blow of[f] each shadowy crown 

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By the river side

A ramble by the river side
No walk so sweet can be
To see the creeping waters glide
& hear the humble bee

Theres nothing else so fine to see
As a fast flowing river
Hemmd by green banks continually
& winding on for ever

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More tame than the rest

Now the snow hides the ground little birds leave the wood

& flie to the cottage to beg for their food

While the domestic robin more tame then the rest

(With its wings drooping down &  rough feathers undrest)

Comes close to our windows as much as to say

‘I would venture in if I could find a way

‘I'm starv'd & I want to get out of the cold

‘O! make me a passage & think me not bold‘

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Zig zag lane

O now the crimson east its fire streak burning

Tempts me to wander neath the blushing morn

Winding the zig zag lane turning & turning

As winds the crooked fences wilderd thorn

O wheres the eye can gaze upon the dawn

That flushes yon blue sky of cloudless heaven

& gilds the prospect round below—what eye

Can look upon the beautys morn has given

& look unmovd, sure neer a soul thats living

The soul must be extinct who passes bye

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

The river’s edge

Wandering by the river's edge,
I love to rustle through the sedge
And through the woods of reed to tear
Almost as high as bushes are.
Yet, turning quick with shudder chill,
As danger ever does from ill,
Fear's moment ague quakes the blood,
While plop the snake coils in the flood
And, hissing with a forked tongue,
Across the river winds along.

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Red russet

Hark away to the woods hark away do but look

The fox has broke cover & by the bent [spray]

Drops his tail but a moment to lap at the brook

Then flies oer the red russet fallows away

The woods as if painted in all colours shine

In browns red & yellows the finest of scenes

The woods & the hedges look more than divine

Like paintings hung out in the beautiful greens

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

Tasselled catkins

The ash tree swells its buds as black as jet

Whose pale green keys are not unfolded yet

The sallow glistens in its gay palm blooms

Studded with golden dust where earliest come

The solitary wild bees that survive

Their trance & keep their feeble songs alive

The rifted elm from cloathing spring recieves

Its hoplike pale forerunners of the leaves

& tasselled catkins on the hazels cling

The woodmans genial prophecys of spring

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

Crows crowd quaking

Crows crowd quaking over head
Hastening to the woods to bed
Cooing sits the lonely dove
Calling home her absent love
'Kirchip Kirchip' among the wheat
Partridge, distant partridge, greet
Beckoning call to those that roam
Guiding the squandering covey home

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

Freedom is their mate

The crows upon the swelling hills

The cows upon the lea

Sheep feeding by the pasture rills

Are ever dear to me

Because sweet freedom is their mate

While I am lone & desolate

I loved the winds when I was young

When life was dear to me

I loved the song which nature sung

Endearing Liberty

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Images by my friend #JohnAbbott