An April daisy

Welcome old Maytey peeping once again

Our meeting minds me of a pleasent hour
Springs pencil pinks thy cheek that blushy stain
& Summer glistens in thy tinty flower

Hail Beautys gem disdaining time nor place
Carlessly creeping on the dunghills side
Demeanour softens in thy crimpled face
& Decks thee with a charm unknown to pride

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A little mouse

Nay dont be alarmed & start up from the hay 
Thats nought but a little mouse running away 
& now she finds out we're not foes to destroy 
Do but hear in the grass how she chitters for joy 
No doubt in the beans nigh at hand may sojourn 
Her childern awaiting her mothers return 
See there where the willow bends over the brook 
At our feet like an old shepherd over his crook 
Neath its boughs Gnats & midges are still at their play 
Like ball rooms of faireys all dancing away

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Farm Cat

Now the cat has ta'en her seat, 
With her tail curled round her feet; 
Patiently she sits to watch 
Sparrows fighting on the thatch. 
Now Doll brings the expected pails, 
And dogs begin to wag their tails; 
With strokes and pats they're welcomed in, 
And they with looking wants begin; 
Slove in the milk-pail brimming o'er, 
She pops their dish behind the door. 
Prone to mischief boys are met, 
Neath the eaves the ladder's set, 
Sly they climb in softest tread, 
To catch the sparrow on his bed; 
Massacred, O cruel pride! 
Dashed against the ladder's side. 
Curst barbarians! pass me by; 
Come not, Turks, my cottage nigh; 
Sure my sparrows are my own, 
Let ye then my birds alone

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Early nightingales

When first we hear the shy-come nightingales
They seem to mutter oer their songs in fear
And, climb we eer so soft the spinney rails
All stops as if no bird was anywhere
The kindled bushes with the young leaves thin
Let curious eyes to search a long way in
Until impatience cannot see or hear
The hidden music; gets but little way
Upon the path--when up the songs begin
Full loud a moment and then low again
But when a day or two confirms her stay
Boldly she sings and loud for half the day
And soon the village brings the woodman's tale
Of having heard the newcome nightingale

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Balm & Breezes

The Paigles Bloom In Showers In Grassy Close

How Sweet To Be Among Their Blossoms Led
& Hear Sweet Nature To Herself Discourse
While Pale The Moon Is Bering Over Head

& Hear The Grazeing Cattle Softly Tread

Cropping The Hedgerows Newly Leafing Thorn
Sounds Soft As Visions Murmured Oer In Bed
At Dusky Eve Or Sober Silent Morn
For Such Delights Twere Happy Man Was Born

Now Come The Balm & Breezes Of The Spring

Not With The Pleasures Of My Early Days
When Nature Seemed One Endless Song To Sing
A Joyous Melody & Happy Praise
Ah Would They Come Agen—But Life Betrays
Quicksands & Gulphs & Storms That Howl & Sting
All Quiet Into Madness & Delays
Care Hides The Sunshine With Its Raven Wing
& Hell Glooms Sadness Oer The Songs Of Spring

At this period in 1841 Clare capitalised every word in his manuscripts.  No one has yet come up with a convincing explanation as to why

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A flush of green

Though 'neath young Aprils watery sky
The sun gleam'd warm & roads were dry
& though the valleys bush & tree

Still naked stood yet on the lea 
A flush of green & fresh'ning glow
In melting patches 'gan to show 
That swelling buds would soon again 
In summers livery bless the plain
The thrushes too 'gan clear their throats
& got by heart some two'r three notes 
Of their intended summer song
To cheer me as I stroll'd along

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Behind the screen

Man is an insect life his cell
Nor lives he till death breaks the shell
He dreameth here & waketh there
So what forsooth hath life to heir? 
A painted nothing of the mind
Whose peace we hunt & never find
A fairy-tale of what hath been
Where all is heard & nothing seen
A mystic show which thoughts devise
A rumour clothed in prophecies
A dream unmarred a hope deferred
Here all is fancy nothing heard
Anon man peeps behind the screen
The spell is out the show is seen

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Love’s riddle

"Unriddle this riddle, my own Jenny love,
Unriddle this riddle for me,
And if ye unriddle the riddle aright,
A kiss your prize shall be,
And if ye riddle the riddle all wrong,
Ye're treble the debt to me:

I'll give thee an apple without any core;
I'll give thee a cherry where stones never be;
I'll give thee a palace, without any door,
And thou shalt unlock it without any key;
I'll give thee a fortune that kings cannot give,
Nor any one take from thee."

"How can there be apples without any core?
How can there be cherries where stones never be?
How can there be houses without any door?
Or doors I may open without any key?
How can'st thou give fortunes that kings cannot give,
When thou art no richer than me?"

"My head is the apple without any core;
In cherries in blossom no stones ever be;
My mind is love's palace without any door,
Which thou can'st unlock, love, without any key.
My heart is the wealth, love, that kings cannot give,
Nor any one take it from thee

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Loitering

& here the shepherd with his sheep
& with his lovley maid
Together where these waters creep
In loitering dalliance playd 

& here the Cow boy lovd to sit
& plate his rushy thongs
& dabble in the fancied pit
& chase the Minnow throwngs

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Infant April

The infant April joins the spring
& views its watery skye
As youngling linnet trys its wing
& fears at first to flye
With timid step she ventures on
& hardly dares to smile
The blossoms open one by one
& sunny hours beguile
But finer days approacheth yet
With scenes more sweet to charm
& suns arive that rise & set
Bright strangers to a storm
& as the birds with louder song
Each mornings glory cheers

With bolder step she speeds along
& looses all her fears

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The ploughman’s song

"My love is young & handsome 
As any in the town
Shes worth a ploughmans ransom 
In the drab cotton gown”
He sang & turned his furrow oer 
& urged his team along
While on the willow as before 
The old crow croaked his song
The ploughman sung his rustic lay 
& sung of Phoebe all the day

The crow he was in love no doubt 
& [so were] many things
The ploughman finished many a bout
& lustily he sings
"My love she is a milking maid 
With red rosy cheek
Of cotton drab her gown was made
I loved her many a week”
His milking maid the ploughman sung 
Till all the fields around him rung

 

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Green & Happy

The blossom burthened never weary May 
Again with natures folks keeps holiday
Trees hide themselves in green & happy birds 
Sing sweeter songs that can be breathed in words
The very winds sing sonnets to the sky
& sunshine bids them welcome so that I 
Feel a new being as from healthier climes
& shape my idle fancies into rhymes 
Of natures ecstasy in bursting flowers

& birds nest-building & sunshiny showers 
That on the south west wind in singing moods 

Sprinkle their drops like manna oer the woods, 
Where I still love my careless limbs to fling 
Among the shadows of young leafy spring

 

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Wild life

The frog croaks loud & maidens dare not pass 
But fear the noisome toad & shuns the grass
& on the sunny banks they fear to go 
Where hissing snakes run to the floods below
The nuthatch noises loud in wood & wild
Like women turning skreekers to a child
The schoolboy hears & brushes through the trees 
& runs about till drabbled to the knees
The old hawk winnows round the old crows nest
The schoolboy hears & wonder fills his breast
He throws his basket down to climb the tree 
& wonders what the red blotched eggs can be
The green woodpecker bounces from the view 
& hollow as they buzz along kew kew 




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Ploughman singing

Here morning in the ploughmans songs is met
Ere yet one footstep shows in all the sky,
And twilight in the east, a doubt as yet,
Shows not her sleeve of grey to know her bye.
Woke early, I arose and thought that first
In winter time of all the world was I.
The old owls might have hallooed if they durst,
But joy just then was up and whistled bye
A merry tune which I had known full long,
But could not to my memory wake it back,
Until the ploughman changed it to the song.
O happiness, how simple is thy track.
Tinged like the willow shoots, the east's young brow
Glows red and finds thee singing at the plough




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Come lovley Jenny

Come lovley Jenny haste away

Quickly come make no delay
Come & view these sweetful flowers
Nurs'd by Aprils softest showers
Haste & greet their happy shade
Soon they'l wither soon they'l fade
Then haste my dearest haste away
Come & taste the sweets of May

Lovley sweets that never cloy
Happiest hours that yield to joy
Hedgerows dappl'd green & white
Look so graceful to the sight
Meadows cloth'd in yellow hue
Banks streak'd oer with vi'lets hue
Yet their charms will soon decay
Soon they'l fade & dye away




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The Kirk at Upton

Her voice shouted Roger, like throwing a stone

So give up old Soldier and let her alone

Go away with ye Roger young Man do I see

If you're an old Soldier you may march on with me.

I went with the maiden over heath and o'er plain

And when Sunday was come too, I saw her again

I saw her, and courted the sun from the West

And left my last kiss on the mole of her breast.

I kissed, and we’re married, and bedded and all

And the old Kirk at Upton the green wedding saw

For the grass it was green and our years was the same

And from morning to Evening none called us to blame




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Midwood silence

The sun beams scarce molest me wi a smile 

So thick the leafy armies gather round 

& where they do the breeze blows cool the while 

Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground 

—Full many a flower too wishing to be seen 

Perks up its head the hiding grass between— 

In midwood silence thus how sweet to be 

Where all the noises that on peace intrude 

Comes from the chittering cricket bird & bee 

Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude




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All captives lost

Ye meadow blooms ye pasture flowers farwell

Ye banishd trees ye make me deeply sigh

Inclosure came & all your glories fell

Een the old oak that crownd yon rifld dell

Whose age had made it sacred to the view

Not long was left his childerns fate to tell

Where ignorance & wealth their course pursue

Each tree must tumble down—old ‘lea close oak’ adieu

Lubin beheld it all & deeply paind

Along the railed road woud muse & sigh

The only path that freedoms rights maintaind

The naked scenes drew pity from his eye

Tears dropt to mem'ry of delights gone bye

The haunts of freedom cowherds wattld bower

& shepherds huts & trees that tow[e]red high

& spreading thorns that turnd a summer shower

All captives lost & past to sad oppresions power

The 'legal robbery' of the enclosures forceably reminded Clare of what has become known in English history as the Norman Yoke.  So here is a piece he wrote under that title to further explain his views of what he was witnessing in his own time.  It might well seem rather familiar to 2026 eyes although written in around 1827.

The Norman Yoke

"Men make a boast of pedigree     as well might the descendants of Richard Turpin boast of theirs     for both honours spring from robbery & spoilation – what was William the Conqueror but a robber by wholesale & what were his followers but high way men     by his authority receiving tithes by their expertness at plunder    for which Turpin (a more noble plunderer if absence from fear or dareing achievements make one) received a halter* because he dared to rob & could show only his courage for the liscence"

* halter = hangman’s noose




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