The Old Year

The Old Years gone away
To nothingness and night
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night
He left no footstep mark or place
In either shade or sun
Tho' last year he'd a neighbours face
In this he's known by none
All nothing every where
Mists we on mornings see
They have more substance when they're here
And more of form than he
He was a friend by every fire
In every cot and hall
A guest to every hearts desire
And now he's nought at all
Old papers thrown away
Or garments cast aside
E'en the talk of yesterday
Are things identified
But time once torn away
No voices can recall
The eve of new years day
Left the old one lost to all

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Christmas or Spring?

Where slanting banks are always with the sun
The daisy is in blossom even now
& where warm patches by the hedges run
The cottager when coming home from plough
Brings home a cowslip root in flower to set
Thus ere the Christmas goes the spring is met
Setting up little tents about the fields
In sheltered spots Primroses when they get
Behind the woods old roots where ivy shields
Their crimpled curdled leaves will shine & hide
Cart ruts and horses footings scarcely yield
A slur for boys just crizzled & thats all
Frost shoots his needles by the small dyke side
& snow in scarce a feathers seen to fall

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Winters sunshine

As winters sunshine or as flowers in may
These all are past as joys are born to pass
Were lifes a shadow & were flesh is grass
Een memorys lingering features time shall rot
& this good man is nearly now forgot
Save on his tomb & some few hearts beside
Greyheaded now left childern when he dyd
Who from their parents all his goodness knew
& learnd to feel it as they older grew
When he was vanishd & the world was known
& troubles evil days became their own

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A fine decembers day

The sun lookd out the dreary scene to bless
Old winters grinning horrors forcful smild
His flinty bosom thawd wi tenderness
So fiercfull savages have melted mild
Neath the sweet looks of womans lovliness
So poesy thy witcheries so wild
Doth warm the chilly heart of wants distress
& forcful give a joy to natures child
Spite of his anguish—ah he coud express
Full many a pleasure & full many a pain
Mingling like gaul & honey sun & rain
A fine decembers day thou art to me
Tho winter still beneath thy rays remain
Her grinning frowns are melted soft by thee

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Beauties of a Winter Forrest

Now tis Winter plainly shown by the icicles which hang pendant from the low mossy eaves of the woodmans cottage -- who now with his mattocks and leather doublet is ready to begin his winters labour to cut down the wood in the still forrest and plash [shape] the hedge to stand as a fence against intruding cattle -- He and he only knows & sees the beauties & horrors of winter mingled together tho the short day – 

 

For the shepherd cuts his journeys short & now only visits his flock on nescessity – Croodling with his hands in his pockets and his crook under his arms he tramples the frosty plain with dithering haste glad and eager to return to the warm corner of his cottage fire -- His favorite tree (where he was wont in summer to stretch his limbs in idle dalliance on the flowrey turf beneath its cooling shade) is now left desolate robbed both of its idle shepherd & the green foliage that clothd its summer boughs – 

 

The Milk-boy too in his morning rambles no longer saunters to the pasture as he had used to do in summer (pausing on every pathway flower & swanking idly along; often staring with open mouth thoughtlessly musing on the heavens as if he could wish for somthing in the passing clouds leaning his lazy sides gainst everystile he come{s} to and can never get his heavy cloutred shoon over the lowest without resting      sighing as he retires with the deepest regret to leave such easy chairs) – 

 

But now in hasty claumping tried finding nothing but cold & snow to pause on he never stops to cawm his thoughtless head about – but shuffling along he make{s} the frosty plain reecho with his hasty bruzzing foot-steps – the stiles which where (were) so hard to climb over in summer are now scald (scaled) with the greatest ease and he wishes for nothing but his journey's end – prefering the sheltering warm confines of the farm yard and stables before the frozen plain – 

 

But tis not so with the woodman no He glories in the weather & rising early in the dark morning ere the copper colored streaks appear to spread over the eastern skie – he pursues his journey over many new made hills and valleys of new fallen snow with “heart felt glee” cheering his rugged way with the oft repeated scrap of an harmless old song making the rihmy feathered thickets rezound in rural melody      Thus he cheerfully sallutes the winter morning till at length [he] enters the wild forrest – Here he brushes along his well known winding pad and the many intricating turns that leads to its deepest recesses – and then the beauties of witherd nature “surround him on every side”

 

Beauties of a winter Forrest (excerpt)

Hidden Treasures (Arbour Editions) 2016/9

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Desolation destruction

It might be thought this is a modern poem, but no, it is Clare writing 200 years ago.

All enemies open their mouths to deride 

Fear & snares are against us on every side 
Desolation destruction hath left us no shore 
With rivers of waters mine eyes runneth oer 
For the destruction of the daughter of my peoples renown 
Without intermission my tears trickle down 
Till the lord shall look down from the heavens & see 
I mourn for my own citys daughters & me 
Mine enemies chased me like a bird from its nest 
My heart from its home & would give me no rest 
They've cut off my life in the dungeon—to sever 
& cast a stone on the door of my freedom forever

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The Stranger

His presence was a peace to all
He bade the sorrowful rejoice
Pain turned to pleasure at his call
Health lived & issued from his voice
He healed the sick & sent abroad
The dumb rejoicing in the Lord

The blind met daylight in his eye
The joys of everlasting day
The sick found health in his reply
The cripple threw his crutch away
Yet he with troubles did remain
& suffered poverty and pain

Yet none could say of wrong he did
& scorn was ever standing bye
Accusers by their conscience chid
When proof was sought made no reply
Yet without sin he suffered more
Than ever sinners did before

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John Clare’s faith

His church was out of doors. He describes it constantly. Like William Wordsworth, he drew his beliefs from "Nature and her overflowing soul". Clare was the outside worshipper, and poem after poem by him delights in the freedom of the sabbath fields and hearing distant bells. His creed began: "Nature, thou truth from Heaven".

His fellow worshippers were shepherds, gypsies, and herdboys, though mostly he preferred to sing alone amid birds and flowers. The annual cycle of growth, the seasonal weather, and the continuity of creatures and plants in more or less the same few acres, witnessed to him the eternal. In fact, he summed up his faith in a long statement, "The Eternity of Nature", and in a perfect epigram for himself, here is part:

He loved the brooks soft sound
The swallow swimming by
He loved the daisy covered round
The cloud bedappled sky
To him the dismal appeared
The very voice of God
A silent man in lifes affairs
A thinker from a Boy
A Peasant in his daily cares
The Poet in his joy

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O thrice lucky town

[Image: 'The Saviour is Born' by Vitali Linitsky]

.

O thrice lucky town (the more lucky poor creatures)

Who ere could have thought that such luck would be thine

Such a stranger as thou art to things o' like nature

But time bringeth all things to pass—so its sighing

& O' what a blessing o' poor peoples sides

Who just before this were near pining to dead

That his Lordships great goodness condescends to provide

An odd sort of something that they may be fed

What a good Christian heart must his honour possess

To 'mean him so low when so high riches rank him

In giving this hodgepodge—they cant do no less

Then down on their knappers & twenty times thank him

& benevolent charity sure such as this is

'll set others a going for the good o poor ce'turs

& warm squeezing Mizers to open their fis'es

& soften the wit-leather hearts of our betters

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Love cannot die

[Christ Child by Lorna L. Effler (detail)]

In crime & enmity they lie
Who sin & tell us love can die
Who say to us in slanders breath
That love belongs to sin & death
From heaven it came on angels wing
To bloom on earth eternal spring
In falsehoods enmity they lie
Who sin & tell us love can die

Twas born upon an angels breast
The softest dreams the sweetest rest
The brightest sun the bluest sky
Are loves own home & canopy
The thought that cheers this heart of mine
Is that of love—love so divine
They sin who say in slanders breath
That love belongs to sin & death

The sweetest voice that lips contain
The sweetest thought that leaves the brain
The sweetest feeling of the heart
Theres pleasure in its very smart
The scent of rose & cinnamon
Is not like love remembered on
In falsehoods enmity they lie
Who sin & tell us love can die

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Christmas (final)

Around the glowing hearth at night
The harmless laugh & winter tale 
Go round while parting friends delight 
To toast each other oer their ale
The cotter oft with quiet zeal 
Will musing oer his Bible lean
While in the dark the lovers steal 
To kiss & toy behind the screen
Old customs O I love the sound
However simple they may be
Whateer with time hath sanction found
Is welcome & is dear to me
Pride grows above simplicity
& spurns them from her haughty mind
& soon the poets song will be 
The only refuge they can find

(lines 113-128)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Image but my friend #CarryAkroyd

 

Christmas (VII)

The wooden horse with arching head,
Drawn upon wheels around the room,
The gilded coach of gingerbread,
And many-colour'd sugar-plum,
Gilt-cover'd books for pictures sought,
Or stories childhood loves to tell,
With many an urgent promise bought,
To get to-morrow's lesson well;
And many a thing, a minute's sport,
Left broken on the sanded floor,
When we would leave our play, and court
Our parents' promises for more.
Tho' manhood bids such raptures die,
And throws such toys aside as vain,
Yet memory loves to turn her eye,
And count past pleasures o'er again.
(lines 97 – 112)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Christmas (VI)

As tho the homestead trees were drest
In lieu of snow with dancing leaves
As tho the sun dried martins nest
Instead of ickles hung the eaves
The children hail the happy day
As if the snow were Aprils grass
& please as neath the warmth of May
Sport oer the water froze to glass
Thou day of happy sound & mirth
That long with childish memory stays
How blest around the cottage hearth
I met thee in my younger days
Harping with raptures dreaming joys
On presents which thy coming found
The welcome sight of little toys
The Christmas gift of cousins round

(lines 81-96)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Christmas (V)

While snows the window-panes bedim

The fire curls up a sunny charm
Where creaming o'er the pitchers rim
The flowering ale is set to warm
Mirth full of joy as summer bees
Sits there its pleasures to impart
& children tween their parents' knees
Sing scraps of carols o'er by heart

& some to view the winter weathers

Climb up the window-seat with glee
Likening the snow to falling feathers
In fancy's infant ecstasy
Laughing with superstitious love
O'er visions wild that youth supplies
Of people pulling geese above
& keeping Christmas in the skies

(lines 65 - 80)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Christmas (IV)

& oft for pence and spicy ale

With winter nosegays pinnd before
The wassail-singer tells her tale
& drawls her Christmas carols oer
While prentice boy with ruddy face
& rime-bepowderd dancing locks
From door to door with happy pace
Runs round to claim his ‘Christmas box’
The block upon the fire is put
To sanction customs old desires
And many a faggot's bands are cut
For the old farmers' Christmas fires;
Where loud-tongued Gladness joins the throng
& Winter meets the warmth of May
Till feeling soon the heat too strong
He rubs his shins & draws away

(lines 49 - 64)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Christmas (III)

The singing waits a merry throng
At early morn with simple skill
Yet imitate the angels song,
& chant their Christmas ditty still

& mid the storm that dies & swells
By fits in hummings softly steals
The music of the village bells
Ringing round their merry peals
When this is past a merry crew,
Bedeck'd in masks & ribbons gay
The ‘Morris-dance’ their sports renew
& act their winter evening play
The clown turn'd king for penny-praise
Storms with the actors strut and swell
& Harlequin a laugh to raise
Wears his hunchback & tinkling bell

(lines 33 - 48)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Christmas (II)

Neighbours resume their annual cheer
Wishing with smiles and spirits high
Glad Christmas & a happy year
To every morning passer by
Milkmaids their Christmas journeys go
Accompanied with favour'd swain
& children pace the crumping snow
To taste their grannys cake again
The shepherd now no more afraid
Since custom doth the chance bestow
Starts up to kiss the giggling maid
Beneath the branch of misletoe
That 'neath each cottage beam is seen
With pearl like berries shining gay
The shadow still of what hath been
Which fashion yearly fades away

(lines 17 - 32)

'December'

The Shepherd's Calendar (1827)

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Christmas (I)

Glad Christmas comes & every hearth

Makes room to give him welcome now
E'en want will dry its tears in mirth
& crown him with a holly bough
Though tramping 'neath a winter sky
O'er snowy paths & rimy stiles
The housewife sets her spinning by
To bid him welcome with her smiles
Each house is swept the day before
& windows stuck with evergreens
The snow is besom'd from the door
& comfort crowns the cottage scenes
Gilt holly with its thorny pricks
& yew & box with berries small
These deck the unused candlesticks
& pictures hanging by the wall

(lines 1 – 16)

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Murmur sweet

Wild winds no longer rustle in the wood 
The hasty rains cease bubbling on the flood 
Like the noon day as silent & as calm 
While scenes refreshd present a sweeter charm 
Each pearly drop Flowers burthend sweets renew 
The clouds divide—the sky is clothd in blue 
Oer the green hills the slopeing sun declines 
Dashd in the soil the hasty shower combines 
The muddy streams flow rapid tingd with red 
& guggles furious oer their stony bed 
& still ye murmur sweet increasing streams 
Tho not so sweet as yon far music seems

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In the wood

Wild winds no longer rustle in the wood 
The hasty rains cease bubbling on the flood 
Like the noon day as silent & as calm 
While scenes refreshd present a sweeter charm 
Each pearly drop Flowers burthend sweets renew 
The clouds divide—the sky is clothd in blue 
Oer the green hills the slopeing sun declines 
Dashd in the soil the hasty shower combines 
The muddy streams flow rapid tingd with red 
& guggles furious oer their stony bed 
& still ye murmur sweet—increasing streams 
Tho not so sweet as yon far music seems

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Bare & Waste

From: The Winter Canto: Northborough

Tis winter & the fields are bare & waste
The air one mass of ‘vapour clouds & storms’
The suns broad beams are buried & overcast
& chilly glooms the midday light deforms
Yet comfort now the social bosom warms
Friendship of nature which I hourly prove
Even in this winter scene of frost & storms
Bare fields the frozen lake & leafless grove
Are natures grand religion & true love

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Cant of tyranny

Thus came enclosure—ruin was her guide

But freedoms clapping hands enjoyed the sight

Tho comforts cottage soon was thrust aside

& workhouse prisons raised upon the site

Een natures dwelling far away from men

The common heath became the spoilers prey

The rabbit had not where to make his den

& labours only cow was drove away

No matter — wrong was right & right was wrong

& freedoms brawl was sanction to the song

Such was thy ruin music making Elm

The rights of freedom was to injure thine

& these are knaves that brawl for better laws

& cant of tyranny in stronger powers

Who glut their vile unsatiated maws

& freedoms birthright from the weak devours

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The sky in the river

Love is as bird

Like a bird in a shell
Like a rose ere it blossom
All unseen will it dwell
'Tis the kernel of fruits
The germ of all flowers
The blaze of the diamond
The moment of hours
'Tis the star in nights darkness
The sky in the river
The soul in mans bosom
That wears it for ever

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Lone spots

By hedgrow side or bushy bordering spots 

That loves in shade & solitude to dwell 
& 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

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Winter and a fireside

Let's have something of a puzzle.  Is this a single poem or perhaps two that Clare was working on at the same time? Probably unpublished, I found these verses in a Clare manuscript in the Peterborough archives a while ago, and cannot find them published anywhere.

Een winter deemed so desolate a waste

Hath crowds of beautys to the man of taste

& oft he walks about on quiet days

Full many things to notice & to praise

Where oer the snow clad fields the little feet

Of hares are printed that betray their seat

& woods so still he een may hear the sound

Of small wrens footsteps or the heaving ground

While trees & branches make a splendid show

Of lights & shadows hung in wreaths of snow

Beside the fire large apples lay to roast

& in a hugh brown pitcher creaming ale

Was warming seasoned with a nut meg toast

The merry group of gossips to regale

With in the chimney top the threating gale             

Howld angrily & loud but coud not scare                           

The crickets raptures from its merry tale                          

Around her feet the glad cat curld her tail

Listing the crickets song with half shut eyes            

While in the chimney top loud roars the gale

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Gardeners Bonny daughter

The chaffinch in the hedgerow sings by a brown & naked thorn
By its tail the titmouse hings searching the buds at morn
I'll wish dirty roads away & the meadows flooded water
& court before I end the day the gardners bonny daughter

Shes sweeter than the first of spring more fair than Christmas roses
When robins by the hovel sings sweet smiles this maid discloses
Her hair so brown her eyes so bright as clear as meadow water
I'll go and have a word tonight with the gardners bonny daughter

Her cheeks theyre like a coloured rose oh a kiss would surely burn ye
Her lips are gems more red than those for love I'll go the journey
When the white thorn comes in bloom & the chaffinch lays its lauter
I'll walk where singing birds are brief with the gardners bonny daughter

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Colours of Autumn

Now that the year is drawing to a close 

Such mellow tints on trees & bushes lie 
So like to sunshine that it brighter glows 
As one looks more intently—on the sky 
I turn astonished that no sun is there 
The ribboned strips of orange blue & red 
Streaks through the western sky a georgeous bed 
Painting days end most beautifully fair 
So mild so quiet breaths the balmy air 
Scenting the perfume of decaying leaves 
Such fragrance & such lovliness they wear 
Trees hedgrows bushes that the heart recieves 
Joys for which language owneth words too few 
To paint that glowing richness which I view

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My last shilling

O dismal disaster O troublesome lot
What a heart rending theme for my musing Ive got 
Then pray whats the matter O friend I'm not willing 
The thought grieves me sore 
Now Im drove to the shore 
& must I then spend the last shilling the shilling 
& must I then spend the last shilling 

O painful reflection thou whole of my store 
That for these three months in my breeches Ive wore 
To spend thee to spend thee that thought turns me chilling 
O must I in spight 
Of all reason this night 
A Farwell bid to my last shilling my shilling 
A Farwell bid to my last shilling

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