Toiling

 

I feel it necessary to temper the romantic notions we have of life in the outdoors in the early 19th century as an agricultural labourer:

Toiling in the naked fields
Where no bush a shelter yield
Needy Labour dithering stands
Beats & blows his numbing hands
& upon the crumping snows
Stamps in vain to warm his toes
Leaves are fled that once had power
To resist a summer shower
& the wind so piercing blows
Winnowing small the drifting snows

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Poesys measured feet

Like boys that run behind the loaded wain
For the mere joy of riding back again
When summer from the meadow carts the hay
& school hours leave them half a day to play
So I with leisure on three sides a sheet
Of foolscap dance with poesys measured feet
Just to ride post upon the wings of time
& kill a care to friendship turned in rhyme

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I early ramble

The sharp wind shivers in the warm gorse blossoms
& trembles in the dead grass oer the heath
The silver rain pearls in the wild flowers bosoms
& moistens minute flowers of moss beneath
There i' the morning dew I early ramble
What time beneath the fern the weary moth
Hides from the sun in dew drops hangs the bramble
As down the rabbit track I venture forth

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Housewives tales

Housewives discoursing 'bout their hens & cocks
Spinning long stories wearing half the day
Sad deeds bewailing of the prowling fox
How in the roost the thief had knav'd his way
& made their market-profits all a prey
& other losses too the dames recite
Of chick & duck & gosling gone astray
All falling prizes to the swopping kite
& so the story runs both morning noon & night

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

Swifter than thought

Where the deer with their shadows passed swifter than thought
& the hare from the braken went limping along
Where the pheasants red eye for a moment was caught
Then vanished away like a spinning bees song
Ye green shades of Burghley how lovely you seem
Your sweet spreading oaks & your braken so green
Your green plots as sweet as a shepherd boys dream
Neath the shade of dark trees where Ive many a day been

& sitting in braken or roots of the lime
Amusing my leisure in ballads & rhyme

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The storm

Slow boiling up on the horisons brim 
 
Hugh massey clouds mountainious large & grim 
 
Sluggish & slow upon the air they ride 
 
As pitch black ships oer the blue ocean glide 
 
Curling & hovering oer the gloomy south 
 
As curls the sulphur from the canons mouth 
 
More grizly in the sun the tempest comes 
 
& thro the wood wi threatnd vengance hums

Hissing more loud & loud among the trees 
 
The frighted wild wind trembles to a breeze 
 
Just turns the leaf in terryf[y]ing sighs 
 
Bows to the spirit of the storm & dies 
 
In wild pulsations beats the heart of fear 
 
At the low rumbling thunder creeping near

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Tantey Baker

Brave cordial bless thy honest maker 
At Stamford town old tantey baker 
Sells juice o thine woud cure the ague 
A tartan stroke 
A quarts gen manys legs a shaker 
& mine its broke 
Ah that I ha'nt a pen to scrawl 
Like burns's wiskey quill wi all 
Now I ha namd ‘th'hole i'th' wall’ 
Much mores the pity 
Theres none throught stamford but shoud call 
I'bakers gitty

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Hues of every dye

Yet but awhile the slumbering weather flings
Its murky prison round. then winds wake loud
With sudden stir the startled forest sings
Winters returning song cloud races cloud
& the horizon throws away its shroud
Sweeping a stretching circle from the eye
Storms upon storms in quick succession crowd
& oer the sameness of the purple sky
Heaven paints with hurried hand wild hues of every dye

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Winter geese

Yon ponds thick ice for waiting stock to drink 

A wild confusion momentary wakes 

From gabbling geese that loiter on the brink 

Long lockd from water by the winter grim 

They mope & linger round their haunts in vain 

Till such scant chances gives them leave to swim 

& there they clamour till its froze again 

Now as one fails the beaten track to meet 

Of milking maids & early foddering boys 

The snow harsh presses neath ones hastning feet 

Crumping & crumping with incessant noise 

& brushing branches bye till then unstird 

A powdery shower keeps constant pothering round 

& een from movments of a startld bird 

The trees white cloathing shivers to the ground 


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Modern Love

Modern love like to traffic turns all upon gain 
& beautys shov'd out of the fashion 
False curls paint & patches all labour in vain 
For ex[c]iting an amourous passion 
Since wrinkld old shadows—wrong side o' four score 
Where mouldy old coin is in plenty 
Are prefer'd by our modern love jobbers before 
The plump rosey beautys o' Twenty 
So now fusty maidens your sorrows lay by 
Sin' your blest wi' a friend in your riches 
Your hearts need no longer to dwindle & sigh 
Nor ache at the sight o' the breeches

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Schoolboys

The schoolboys still their morning ramble take 
To neighboring village school with playing speed
Loitering with passtimes leisure till they quake
Oft looking up the wild geese droves to heed
Watching the letters which their journeys make
Or plucking haws on which their fieldfares feed
& hips and sloes -- & on each shallow lake 
Making glib slides were they like shadows go 
Till some fresh passtimes in their minds awake
Then off they start anew & hasty blow 
Their numbd & clumpsing fingures till they glow
Then races with their shadows wildly run 
That stride huge giants oer the shining snow 
In the pale splendour of the winter sun

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The sooty crow

How peaceable it seems for lonely men 
To see a crow fly in the thin blue sky 
Over the woods & 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 hugh old oak 
I love to see these chimney sweeps sail by

& hear them oer the knarled forest croak 
Then sosh askew from the hid woodmans stroke 
That in the woods their daily labours ply 
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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A vain life?

Well have I learnd the value of vain life 
Long have I stood the worlds reproach & scorn 
& braved fates sea full many a cloudy morn 
Long bristling many a waves contending strife 
Long curs'd the luckless day that saw me born 
& brought to light my miserys & me 
But now vain life & use me how ye will 
Ill kiss the rod & smile at every ill 
Ive learnd thy value & I've learnd thy end 
A mad braind wanderer & without a friend 
Age learnd me little & experience much 
& as a beggar leans upon his crutch

On my last hope a pilgrim here I bend 
For peace beyond the grave were all my woes shall end

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Memory

I would not that my memory all should die
And pass away with every common lot
I would not that my humble dust should lie
In quite a strange and unfrequented spot
By all unheeded and by all forgot
With nothing save the heedless winds to sigh
And nothing but the dewy morn to weep
About my grave, far hid from the world's eye
I fain would have some friend to wander nigh
And find a path to where my ashes sleep
Not the cold heart that merely passes by
To read who lies beneath, but such as keep
Past memories warm with deeds of other years,
And pay to friendship some few friendly tears

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Sir Winter

Some two or three weeks before valentine day 
At a time when Sir Winter grew kind & in play 
Shook hands with Miss Flora he wooed her to spare 
A few pretty snowdrops to stick in his hair 
Intending for truth as he said to resign 
His throne to Miss Spring & her priest Valentine 
Which trifle he asked for before he set forth 
To remind him of all when he got in the north 

& this is the reason that snowdrops appear 
Mid the cold of the winter so soon in the year 
Flora gladly complied & the instant she heard 
Flew away with the news to each bachelor bird 
Who in raptures half moved on loves errands to start 
Their songs muttered over to get them by heart

Nay the Mavis at once sung aloud in their glee 
& looked for a spot where loves dwelling should be

(Mavis = thrush)

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Queen of fairey land

Kate was the queen upon that merry night 
& rode upon the waggon drest in white 
The stranger oft looked up to see her stand 
& smiling called her “queen of fairey land”

That harvest supper we had morts of fun 
& Farmer Sparks was there a neighbours son 
He was her fathers choice who dreamed of gain 
& talked of marriage as he would of grain 
He vainly tryed young Kittys smiles to share 
& next her without bidding took his chair 
Full oft with gracious simperings looking up 
To drink to Kitty oer the silver cup

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Sings sweet smiles

The chaffinch in the hedgerow sings, by a brown and naked thorn
By it's tail the titmouse hings searching the buds at morn
I'll wish dirty roads away and the meadows flooded water
And court before I end the day the Gardner's bonny daughter

She's 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

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Snow clothd valley

Hail scenes of Desolation & despair 
Keen Winters over bearing sport & scorn 
Torn by his Rage in ruins as you are 
To me more pleasing then a summers morn 
Your shatterd scenes appear despoild & bare 
Stript of your clothing naked & forlorn 
Yes Winters havoc wretched as you shine 
Dismal to others as your fate may seem 
Your fate is pleasing to this heart of mine 
Your wildest horrors I the most esteem
The ice-bound floods that still with rigour freeze 
The snow clothd valley & the naked tree 
These sympathising scenes my heart can please 
Distress is theirs & they resemble me

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Mice

Unperceived through key-holes creep
When all around have sunk to sleep
To feast on what the cotter leaves
Mice are not reckoned greater thieves
They take away as well as eat
& still the housewifes eye they cheat
In spite of all the folks that swarm
In cottage small & larger farm
They through each key-hole pop & pop
Like wasps into a grocers shop

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Solitude

Clare's publisher John Taylor removed the following lines from the published text of 'Solitude' in ‘The Village Minstrel’.  Working with Clare's original manuscript,  I have simply assembled them in the order in which they appear, dotted through the scribbled pages.   Why were these lines deleted?  No-one has any idea.

    

    O how sweet I cannot tell
    With thee at that hour to dwell
    Stretchd the mossy bank beside
    Lye to view the random tide
    Where no clowns has chopt from thence
    Bush nor stake to mend his fence

    Cornerd stones & pebbles round
    Breaking dasht wi mellow sound
    Wether this or that to see
    I am blest if Im wi thee
    & full dear has been the hour
    Spent wi in thy noon day bower
    Prest wi thee thy mossy seat
    O its unexpressive sweet

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The blushing morn

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 


I cannot pass the very bramble weeping 


Neath dewy tear drops that its spears surround 


Like harlots mockery on the wan cheek creeping 


Gilding the poison that is meant to wound 


I cannot pass the bent ere gales have shaken 


Its transient crowning off each point adorning 


But all the feelings of my soul awaken 


To own the witcheries of most lovley morning 


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A lovely charm

I love the raving winds the murky gloom 
& I love the sea 
When ocean billows burst in frothy hum 
& where they silent be

I love the rough & smooth of natures voice 
The quiet & the rude 
For Nature never had unpleasant voice 
But sweet as Solitude 

I love the tumult in the forest trees 
& wood winds to hear 
In natures soul of quiet sympathies 
There—ther's nought to fear 
Nothing creating pain or harm 
& no noises rude 
The loud tongued thunder is a lovely charm 
A companion in solitude

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A deadly foe

O Winter what a deadly foe 
Art thou unto the mean & low 
What thousands now half-pind & bare 
Are forcd to stand thy piercing air 
All day neer numb'd to death wi' cold 
Some petty Gentry to uphold 
Paltry proudlings hard as thee 
Dead to all humanity
O the weathers cold & snow 
Cutting winds that round me blow 
But much more the killing scorn 
O the day that I was born 
Friendless — poor as I can be 
Struck wi' death o' poverty

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The Firwood

The fir trees taper into twigs & wear
The rich blue green of summer all the year
Softening the roughest tempest almost calm
& offering shelter ever still & warm
To the small path that towels underneath
Where loudest winds almost as summers breath
Scarce fan the weed that lingers green below
When others out of doors are lost in frost & snow
& sweet the music trembles on the ear
As the wind suthers through each tiny spear
Makeshifts for leaves & yet so rich they show
Winter is almost summer where they grow

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