Part 9

Infants’ gravemounds are steps of angels, where Earth’s brightest gems of innocence repose. God is their parent, so they need no tear; He takes them to his bosom from earth’s woes, A bud their lifetime and a flower their close. Their spirits are the Iris of the skies, Needing no prayers; a sunset’s happy close. Gone are the bright rays of their soft blue eyes; Flowers weep in dew-drops o’er them, and the gale gently sighs.

Their lives were nothing but a sunny shower, Melting on flowers as tears melt from the eye. Each death * * * Was tolled on flowers as Summer gales went by. They bowed and trembled, yet they heaved no sigh, And the sun smiled to show the end was well. Infants have nought to weep for ere they die; All prayers are needless, beads they need not tell, White flowers their mourners are, Nature their passing bell.

HOME YEARNINGS

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?

When shall I be as I have been Upon my mother’s breast-- Sweet Nature’s garb of verdant green To woo to perfect rest-- Love in the meadow, field, and glen, And in my native wilds 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?

I love the weeds along the fen, More sweet than garden flowers, For freedom haunts the humble glen That blest my happiest hours. Here prison injures health and me: I love sweet freedom and the free.

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 and desolate.

I loved the winds when I was young, When life was dear to me; I loved the song which Nature sung, Endearing liberty; I loved the wood, the vale, the stream, For there my boyhood used to dream.

There even toil itself was play; ’Twas pleasure e’en to weep; ’Twas joy to think of dreams by day, The beautiful of sleep. When shall I see the wood and plain, And dream those happy dreams again?

LOVE LIVES BEYOND THE TOMB

Love lives beyond the tomb, And earth, which fades like dew! I love the fond, The faithful, and the true.

Love lives in sleep; ’Tis happiness of healthy dreams; Eve’s dews may weep, But love delightful seems.

’Tis seen in flowers, And in the morning’s pearly dew; In earth’s green hours, And in the heaven’s eternal blue.

’Tis heard in Spring, When light and sunbeams, warm and kind, On angel’s wings Bring love and music to the mind.

And where’s the voice, So young, so beautiful, and sweet As Nature’s choice, Where Spring and lovers meet?

Love lives beyond the tomb, And earth, which fades like dew! I love the fond, The faithful, and the true.

MY EARLY HOME

Here sparrows build upon the trees, And stockdove hides her nest; The leaves are winnowed by the breeze Into a calmer rest; The black-cap’s song was very sweet, That used the rose to kiss; It made the Paradise complete: My early home was this.

The redbreast from the sweetbriar bush Dropt down to pick the worm; On the horse-chesnut sang the thrush, O’er the house where I was born; The moonlight, like a shower of pearls, Fell o’er this “bower of bliss,” And on the bench sat boys and girls: My early home was this.

The old house stooped just like a cave, Thatched o’er with mosses green; Winter around the walls would rave, But all was calm within; The trees are here all green agen, Here bees the flowers still kiss, But flowers and trees seemed sweeter then: My early home was this.

THE TELL-TALE FLOWERS

And has the Spring’s all-glorious eye No lesson to the mind? The birds that cleave the golden sky-- Things to the earth resigned-- Wild flowers that dance to every wind-- Do they no memory leave behind?

Aye, flowers! The very name of flowers, That bloom in wood and glen, Brings Spring to me in Winter’s hours, And childhood’s dreams again. The primrose on the woodland lea Was more than gold and lands to me.

The violets by the woodland side Are thick as they could thrive; I’ve talked to them with childish pride As things that were alive: I find them now in my distress-- They seem as sweet, yet valueless.

The cowslips on the meadow lea, How have I run for them! I looked with wild and childish glee Upon each golden gem: And when they bowed their heads so shy I laughed, and thought they danced for joy.

And when a man, in early years, How sweet they used to come, And give me tales of smiles and tears, And thoughts more dear than home: Secrets which words would then reprove-- They told the names of early love.

The primrose turned a babbling flower Within its sweet recess: I blushed to see its secret bower, And turned her name to bless. The violets said the eyes were blue: I loved, and did they tell me true?

The cowslips, blooming everywhere, My heart’s own thoughts could steal: I nip’t them that they should not hear: They smiled, and would reveal; And o’er each meadow, right or wrong, They sing the name I’ve worshipped long.

The brook that mirrored clear the sky-- Full well I know the spot; The mouse-ear looked with bright blue eye, And said “Forget-me-not.” And from the brook I turned away, But heard it many an after day.

The king-cup on its slender stalk, Within the pasture dell, Would picture there a pleasant walk With one I loved so well. It said “How sweet at eventide ’Twould be, with true love at thy side.”

And on the pasture’s woody knoll I saw the wild bluebell, On Sundays, where I used to stroll With her I loved so well: She culled the flowers the year before; These bowed, and told the story o’er.

And every flower that had a name Would tell me who was fair; But those without, as strangers, came And blossomed silent there: I stood to hear, but all alone: They bloomed and kept their thoughts unknown.

But seasons now have nought to say, The flowers no news to bring: Alone I live from day to day-- Flowers deck the bier of Spring; And birds upon the bush or tree All sing a different tale to me.

TO JOHN MILTON

Poet of mighty power, I fain Would court the muse that honoured thee, And, like Elisha’s spirit, gain A part of thy intensity; And share the mantle which she flung Around thee, when thy lyre was strung.

Though faction’s scorn at first did shun, With coldness, thy inspired song, Though clouds of malice pass’d thy sun, They could not hide it long; Its brightness soon exhaled away Dark night, and gained eternal day.

The critics’ wrath did darkly frown Upon thy muse’s mighty lay; But blasts that break the blossom down Do only stir the bay; And thine shall flourish, green and long, In the eternity of song.

Thy genius saw, in quiet mood, Gilt fashion’s follies pass thee by, And, like the monarch of the wood, Tower’d o’er it to the sky; Where thou could’st sing of other spheres, And feel the fame of future years.

Though bitter sneers and stinging scorns Did throng the Muse’s dangerous way, Thy powers were past such little thorns, They gave thee no dismay; The scoffer’s insult pass’d thee by, Thou smild’st and mad’st him no reply.

Envy will gnaw its heart away To see thy genius gather root; And as its flowers their sweets display, Scorn’s malice shall be mute; Hornets that summer warmed to fly, Shall at the death of summer die.

Though friendly praise hath but its hour, And little praise with thee hath been; The bay may lose its summer flower, But still its leaves are green; And thine, whose buds are on the shoot, Shall only fade to change to fruit.

Fame lives not in the breath of words, In public praises’ hue and cry; The music of these summer birds Is silent in a winter sky, When thine shall live and flourish on, O’er wrecks where crowds of fames are gone.

The ivy shuns the city wall, When busy-clamorous crowds intrude, And climbs the desolated hall In silent solitude; The time-worn arch, the fallen dome, Are roots for its eternal home.

The bard his glory ne’er receives Where summer’s common flowers are seen, But winter finds it when she leaves The laurel only green; And time, from that eternal tree, Shall weave a wreath to honour thee.

Nought but thy ashes shall expire; Thy genius, at thy obsequies, Shall kindle up its living fire And light the Muse’s skies; Ay, it shall rise, and shine, and be A sun in song’s posterity.

I AM! YET WHAT I AM

I am! yet what I am who cares, or knows? My friends forsake me like a memory lost. I am the self-consumer of my woes, They rise and vanish, an oblivious host, Shadows of life, whose very soul is lost. And yet I am--I live--though I am toss’d

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dream, Where there is neither sense of life, nor joys, But the huge shipwreck of my own esteem And all that’s dear. Even those I loved the best Are strange--nay, they are stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod, For scenes where woman never smiled or wept; There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept Full of high thoughts, unborn. So let me lie, The grass below; above the vaulted sky.

* * * * *

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF JOHN CLARE

BY C. ERNEST SMITH

CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF WORKS

Clare (John). Poems, Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery. 12mo., pp. 222. 1820

(Contains passages suppressed in later editions).

---- The Village Minstrel, and Other Poems. _Portrait and Sketch of Clare’s Cottage._ 2 vols., 12mo., pp. 216 and 211. 1821

---- The Shepherd’s Calendar, with Village Stories and Other Poems. _Front by Dewint._ 12mo., pp. 238. 1827

---- The Rural Muse. _Front, and Engraved Title._ 12mo., pp. 175. 1835

BIOGRAPHY

Cherry (J. L.) Life and Remains of John Clare. _Illustrations by Birket Foster._ Cr. 8vo. 1873

This volume was afterwards included in the _Chandos Classics,_ published by Warne & Co., London.

Martin (F.) Life of John Clare. _Engraved Title._ 8vo. 1865

[See also _Encyclopædia Britannica_; and _Dictionary of National Biography_, vol. 10].

CRITICISM, ETC.

The Book of Gems, edited by S. C. Hall. 8vo. 1853

(References to Clare, pp. 162-166. Facsimile of Clare’s Autograph at end of volume).

Casket of Gems, edited by Chas. Gibbon. 4 vols., Royal 8vo. N. D.

(Contains a Poem of Clare’s which has been very much altered and revised by another hand).

Dack (Chas.) Catalogue of the Clare Centenary Exhibition at Peterborough. 1893

(Full reports of the Centenary Celebrations appear in _Peterboro’ Standard_, July 15, Aug. 26, Sept. 9, 1893, and _Stamford Guardian_, Sept. 1, 1893).

De Wilde (G. J.) Rambles Roundabout, and Poems. Cr. 8vo. _Northampton,_ N. D.

(Includes much interesting matter about Clare and his birthplace).

Four Letters from Rev. W. Allen to Lord Radstock on the Poems of Clare. 12mo. 1823

Heath (Richard). The English Peasant: His Past and Present. Sm. 8vo. 1899

(Exhaustive account of Clare occupies large portion of the book).

Holland (J.), and J. Everett. James Montgomery. 7 vols., 8vo. 1854-6

(References to Clare, vol. iv., pp. 96-175).

Hood (E. Paxton). The Peerage of Poverty. Cr. 8vo. N. D.

(An account of Clare occupies some fifty pages.)

Poets and the Poetry of the Century, edited by Alfred H. Miles. Keats to Lytton. 12mo. N. D.

(Clare, by Hon. Roden Noel, pp. 79-106).

Redding (Cyrus). Fifty Years’ Recollections. 3 vols., p. 8vo. 1858

(Vol. III., pp. 216, references to Clare).

Stoddard (R. H.) Under the Evening Lamp. Cr. 8vo. 1893

(Essay on Clare, pp. 120-134).

Wilson (Professor). Clare’s Rural Muse. 16 pp. _Blackwood’s Magazine_, August, 1835.

MAGAZINE ARTICLES, ETC.

Anti-Jacobin Review. June, 1820.

Baldwin’s London Magazine. March, 1820.

Blackwood’s Magazine. August, 1835.

Eclectic Review. April, 1820.

Gentleman’s Magazine. February, 1820.

Literary World. August and September, 1893.

London Magazine. I., 5-11--323-29. IV., 540-8.

New Monthly Magazine. March, 1820.

Notes and Queries. Ist S., vi., 196; IInd S., v., 186; IVth S., xi., 127; Vth S., ii., 302; VIIth S., x., 187.

Peterborough Standard. July 15, August 26, and September 2 and 9, 1893.

Quarterly Review. May, 1820, pp. 166-75.

Stamford and Rutland Guardian. Aug. and Sept., 1890; May and June, 1891; Sept., Oct., and December, 1893.