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JOHN CLARE 1793-1864

CCXCI

BURTHORP OAK.

LD noted oak! I saw thee in a mood

OLD

Of vague indifference; and yet with me.
Thy memory, like thy fate, hath lingering stood
For years, thou hermit, in the lonely sea
Of grass that waves around thee !-Solitude
Paints not a lonelier picture to the view,
Burthorp than thy one melancholy tree,
Age-rent, and shattered to a stump.
Yet new
Leaves come upon each rift and broken limb
With every spring; and Poesy's visions swim
Around it, of old days and chivalry;

And desolate fancies bid the eyes grow dim

With feelings, that earth's grandeur should decay,
And all its olden memories pass away.

CCXCII

THE CRAB-TREE.

PRING comes anew, and brings each little pledge

SPRING

That still, as wont, my childish heart deceives : stoop again for violets in the hedge,

Among the ivy and old withered leaves;
And often mark, amid the clumps of sedge,
The pooty-shells I gathered when a boy :
But cares have claimed me many an evil day,
And chilled the relish which I had for joy.
Yet when crab-blossoms blush among the May,
As erst in years gone by, I scramble now
Up 'mid the bramble for my old esteems,
Filling my hands with many a blooming bough;
Till the heart-stirring past as present seems,
Save the bright sunshine of those fairy dreams.

I

CCXCIII

CARELESS RAMBLES.

LOVE to wander at my idle will

In summer's joyous prime about the fields,
To kneel when thirsty at the little rill,
And sip the draught its pebbly bottom yields;
And where the maple bush its fountain shields,
To lie, and rest a sultry hour away,

Cropping the swelling peascod from the land;
Or 'mid the sheltering woodland-walks to stray,
Where oaks for aye o'er their old shadows stand;
'Neath whose dark foliage, with a welcome hand,
I pluck the luscious strawberry, ripe and red
As Beauty's lips ;-and in my fancy's dreams,
As 'mid the velvet moss I musing tread,
Feel Life as lovely as her picture seems.

JOHN CLARE

1793-1864

CCXCIV

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

'CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELd.'

"LOWERS! when the Saviour's calm, benignant eye

FLOWE

Fell on your gentle beauty; when from you

That heavenly lesson for all hearts He drew,

Eternal, universal, as the sky,

Then in the bosom of your purity

A voice He set as in a temple-shrine,

That life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by

Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine.

And though too oft its low, celestial sound

By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned,
And the loud steps of vain, unlistening haste,
Yet the great ocean hath no tone of power
Mightier to reach the soul in thought's hushed hour,
Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced.

FELICIA DOROTHEA

HEMANS

1794-1835

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

1794-1835

CCXCV

REPOSE OF A HOLY FAMILY.

FROM AN OLD ITALIAN PICTURE.

UNDER a palm-tree, by the green old Nile,

Lulled on his mother's breast, the fair child lies,

With dove-like breathings, and a tender smile
Brooding above the slumber of his eyes;

While, through the stillness of the burning skies,
Lo! the dread works of Egypt's buried kings,
Temple and pyramid, beyond him rise,

Regal and still as everlasting things.

Vain pomps! from him with that pure flowery cheek,
Soft shadow'd by his mother's drooping head,

A new-born spirit, mighty and yet meek,

O'er the whole world like vernal air shall spread,
And bid all earthly grandeurs cast the crown,
Before the suffering and the lowly, down.

I

CCXCVI

ON A REMEMBERED PICTURE OF CHRIST :

AN ECCE HOMO BY LEONARDO DA VINCI.

MET that image on a mirthful day

Of youth; and, sinking with a stilled surprise,

The pride of life, before those holy eyes,

In my quick heart died thoughtfully away,
Abashed to mute confession of a sway

Awful though meek; and now that from the strings
Of my soul's lyre the tempest's mighty wings
Have struck forth tones which then unwakened lay ;
Now that around the deep life of my mind
Affections deathless as itself have twined,
Oft does the pale bright vision still float by;
But more divinely sweet, and speaking now
Of One whose pity, throned on that sad brow,
Sounded all depths of love, grief, death, humanity.

CCXCVII

FLIGHT OF THE SPIRIT.

THITHER, oh! whither wilt thou wing thy way?
What solemn region first upon thy sight

Shall break, unveiled for terror or delight?

What hosts, magnificent in dread array,
My spirit! when thy prison-house of clay
After long strife is rent? Fond, fruitless quest !
The unfledged bird, within his narrow nest,
Sees but a few green branches o'er him play,
And through their parting leaves, by fits revealed,
A glimpse of summer sky; nor knows the field
Wherein his dormant powers must yet be tried.
Thou art that bird!—of what beyond thee lies
Far in the untracked, immeasurable skies
Knowing but this-that thou shalt find thy Guide!

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

1794-1835

CCXCVIII

SABBATH SONNET.

OW many blessèd groups this hour are bending,

HOW

Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way
Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!
The halls from old heroic ages gray

Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low,

With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play,
Send out their inmates in a happy flow,

Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread
With them those pathways, to the feverish bed
Of sickness bound; yet, O my God! I bless
Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled
My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

JOHN KEATS

1795-1821

CCXCIX

SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-
Nature's observatory-whence the dell,

Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

то

CCC

O one who has been long in city pent
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven, -to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel,-an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
Even like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.

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