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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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

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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