And the cow-boy seeks the sedge, Drowking lies the meadow-sweet, Flopping down beneath one's feet : Th' injurious deed alike is done poor birds! where must ye fly, Now your water-pots are dry? If ye stay upon the heath, Ye'll be choaked and clammed to death: Therefore leave the shadeless goss, Seek the spring-head lined with moss; There your little feet may stand, Safely printing on the sand; Purling eddies ripple clear, TO A RED CLOVER BLOSSOM. 65 You, with ease and plenty blest, Then I'll think, and then I'll sleep; Till the dew begins to fall. John Clare. TO A RED CLOVER BLOSSOM. SWEET bottle-shaped flower of lushy red, Born when the summer wakes her warmest breeze, Among the meadow's waving grasses spread, Or 'neath the shade of hedge or clumping trees, Bowing on slender stein thy heavy head, In sweet delight I view thy summer bed, Down corn-fields, striped balks, and pasture-leas. 5 Revive my bosom with their kindlings still, John Clare. THE BRAMBLE FLOWER. THY fruit full well the schoolboy knows, So, put thou forth thy small white rose; Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow Thou need'st not be ashamed to show For dull the eye, the heart is dull, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are; How delicate thy gauzy frill, How rich thy branchy stem, How soft thy voice when woods are still While silent showers are falling slow, A sweet air lifts the little bough, Lone whispering through the bush! The primrose to the grave is gone; The hawthorn flower is dead; A PASTORAL SONG. The violet by the mossed gray stone But thou! wild bramble! back dost bring, The fresh green days of life's fair Spring, Scorned bramble of the brake! once more To gad with thec the woodlands o'er, In freedom and in joy. A PASTORAL SONG. HITHER! hither! O come hither! Lads and lasses, come and see! Trip it neatly, Foot it featly, O'er the grassy turf to me! Here are bowers Hung with flowers, Richly curtain'd halls for you! Meads for rovers, Shades for lovers, Violet beds, and pillows too! Purple heather You may gather Sandal-deep in seas of bloom, Ebenezer Elliott. 67 Pale-faced lily, Proud Sweet-Willy, Gorgeous rose, and golden broom! Odorous blossoms For sweet bosoms, Garlands green to bind the hair; Weft of myrtles, Youth may choose, and Beauty wear! Brightsome glasses For bright faces 'Shine in ev'ry rill that flows; Every minute You look in it Still more bright your beauty grows! Banks for sleeping, Nooks for peeping, Glades for dancing, smooth and fine! Fruits delicious For who wishes, Nectar, dew, and honey-wine! Hither! hither! O come hither! Lads and lasses, come and see! Trip it neatly, Foot it featly, O'er the grassy turf to me! George Darley. |