Death

A Specimen of Clare's rough drafts

In a huge cloud of mountain hue
The sun sets dark nor shudders through
One single beam to shine again
Tis night already in the lane

The settled clouds in ridges lie
And some swell mountains calm and high

Clouds rack and drive before the wind
In shapes and forms of every kind
Like waves that rise without the roars
And rocks that guard untrodden shores
Now castles pass majestic bye
And ships in peaceful havens lie
These gone ten thousand shapes ensue
For ever beautiful and new

The scattered clouds lie calm and still
And day throws gold on every hill
Their thousand heads in glorys run
As each were worlds and owned a sun
The rime it clings to every thing
It beards the early buds of spri...

To the heart, to the heart the white petals
Quietly fall.
Memory is a little wind, and magical
The dreaming hours.
As a breath they fall, as a sigh;
Green garden hours too langorous to waken,
White leaves of blossomy tree wind-shaken:
As a breath, a sigh,
As the slow white drift
Of a butterfly.
Flower-wings falling, wings of branches
One after one at wind's droop dipping;
Then with the lift
Of the air's soft breath, in sudden avalanches
Slipping.
Quietly, quietly the June wind flings
White wings,
White petals, past the footpath flowers
Adown my dreaming hours.
At the heart, at the heart the butterfly settles.
As a breath, a sigh
Fall the petals of hours, of the white-leafed flowers,
Fall the petalled wings of the butterfly.
T...

In these fair vales hath many a Tree
At Wordsworth's suit been spared;
And from the builder's hand this Stone,
For some rude beauty of its own,
Was rescued by the Bard:
So let it rest; and time will come
When here the tender-hearted
May heave a gentle sigh for him,
As one of the departed.

I.

    Lips that are met in love's
        Devotion sweet,
While parting lovers passionately greet,
And earth through heaven's arc more swiftly moves -
    Oh, will they be less dear
    Within a year?


II.

    Eyes in whose shadow-spell
        Far off I read
That which to lovers taking loving heed
Dear women's eyes full soon and plainly tell -
    Oh, will you give such cheer
    This time a year?


III.

    Behold! the dark year goes,
        Nor will reveal
Aught of its purpose, if for woe or weal,
Swift as a stream that o'er the mill-weir flows:
    Mayhap the end draws near
    Within the year!


IV.

    Yet, darling, once more touch
        Those lips to mine.

Upon Hearing That His Name Would Be Transmitted To Posterity In Dr. Swift's Works.
By William Dunkin


Well! now, since the heat of my passion's abated,
That the Dean hath lampoon'd me, my mind is elated: -
Lampoon'd did I call it? - No - what was it then?
What was it? - 'Twas fame to be lash'd by his pen:
For had he not pointed me out, I had slept till
E'en doomsday, a poor insignificant reptile;
Half lawyer, half actor, pert, dull, and inglorious,
Obscure, and unheard of - but now I'm notorious:
Fame has but two gates, a white and a black one;
The worst they can say is, I got in at the back one:
If the end be obtain'd 'tis equal what portal
I enter, since I'm to be render'd immortal:
So clysters applied to the anus, 'tis said,
By skilful physicians, giv...

Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n,
That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n:
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives th...

[1]


Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves,
Where lotus with the myrtle weaves;
And while in luxury's dream I sink,
Let me the balm of Bacchus drink!
In this sweet hour of revelry
Young Love shall my attendant be--
Drest for the task, with tunic round
His snowy neck and shoulders bound,
Himself shall hover by my side,
And minister the racy tide!

    Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll,
Our life is hurrying to the goal;
A scanty dust, to feed the wind,
Is all the trace 'twill leave behind.
Then wherefore waste the rose's bloom
Upon the cold, insensate tomb?
Can flowery breeze, or odor's breath,
Affect the still, cold sense of death?
Oh no; I ask no balm to steep
With fragrant tears my bed of sleep:
But now, wh...

My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss,
    I feel its impress now;
As in the bright and happy days
    She pressed it on my brow.

You say it is a fancied thing
    Within my memory fraught;
To me it has a sacred place -
    The treasure house of thought.

Again, I feel her fingers glide
    Amid my clustering hair;
I see the love-light in her eyes,
    When all my life was fair.

Again, I hear her gentle voice
    In warning or in love.
How precious was the faith that taught
    My soul of things above.

The music of her voice is stilled,
    Her lips are paled in death.
As precious pearls I'll clasp her words
    Until my latest breath.

The world has scattered round my path
    Honor and wealth and fame;
B...

The cruel war was over - oh, the triumph was so sweet!
We watched the troops returning, through our tears;
There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,
And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers.
And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between,
The bells were pealing madly to the sky;
And every one was shouting for the Soldiers of the Queen,
And the glory of an age was passing by.

And then there came a shadow, swift and sudden, dark and drear;
The bells were silent, not an echo stirred.
The flags were drooping sullenly, the men forgot to cheer;
We waited, and we never spoke a word.
The sky grew darker, darker, till from out the gloomy rack
There came a voice that checked the heart with dread:
"Tear down, t...

The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon
The creeping cat looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For wander and wail as he would
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass,
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they rang...

I.

We have no castles,
We have no vassals,
We have no riches, no gems and no gold;
Nothing to ponder,
Nothing to squander
Let us go wander
As minstrels of old.


II.

You with your lute, love,
I with my flute, love,
Let us make music by mountain and sea;
You with your glances,
I with my dances,
Singing romances
Of old chivalry.


III.

"Derry down derry!
Good folk, be merry!
Hither, and hearken where happiness is!
Never go borrow
Care of to-morrow,
Never go sorrow
While life hath a kiss."


IV.

Let the day gladden
Or the night sadden,
We will be merry in sunshine or snow;
You with your rhyme, love,
I with my chime, love,
We will make time, ...

(After Heine)

Through the lonely mountain land
There rode a cavalier.
"Oh ride I to my darling's arms,
Or to the grave so drear?"
The Echo answered clear,
"The grave so drear."

So onward rode the cavalier
And clouded was his brow.
"If now my hour be truly come,
Ah well, it must be now!"
The Echo answered low,
"It must be now."

My memory, long accustom'd to receive
    In deep-engraven lines, each varying trait
    Past Times and Seasons wore, can find no date
    Thro' many years, O! MAY, when thou hadst leave,
As now, of the great SUN, serene to weave
    Thy fragrant chaplets; in poetic state
    To call the jocund Hours on thee to wait,
    Bringing each day, at morn, at noon, at eve,
His mild illuminations. - Nymph, no more
    Is thine to mourn beneath the scanty shade
    Of half-blown foliage, shivering to deplore
Thy garlands immature, thy rites unpaid;
    Meads dropt with [1]gold again to thee belong,
    Soft gales, luxuriant bowers, and wood-land song.

1: Kingcups.

As the grey twilight, tiptoed down the deep
    And shadowy valley, to the day's dark end,
    She whom I thought my ever-faithful friend,
Fair-browed, calm-eyed and mother-bosomed Sleep,
Met me with smiles.    'Poor longing heart, I keep
    Sweet joy for you,' she murmured.    'I will send
    One whom you love, with your own soul to blend
In visions, as the night hours onward creep.'

I trusted her; and watched by starry beams,
    I slumbered soundly, free from all alarms.
    Then not my love, but one long banished came,
Led by false Sleep, down secret stairs of dreams
    And clasped me, unresisting in fond arms.
    Oh, treacherous sleep - to sell me to such shame!

"Arise, depart, for this is not your rest."
Oh, burden of all burdens, - still to arise
And still depart, nor rest in any wise!
Rolling, still rolling thus to east from west,
Earth journeys on her immemorial quest,
Whom a moon chases in no different guise.
Thus stars pursue their courses, and thus flies
The sun, and thus all creatures manifest
Unrest, the common heritage, the ban
Flung broadcast on all humankind, - on all
Who live; for living, all are bound to die.
That which is old, we know that it is man.
These have no rest who sit and dream and sigh,
Nor have those rest who wrestle and who fall.

Lay me in yon place, lad,
    The gloamin's thick wi' nicht;
I canna' see yer face, lad,
    For my een's no richt,
But it's owre late for leein',
An' I ken fine I'm deein',
Like an auld craw fleein'
    To the last o' the licht.

The kye gang to the byre, lad,
    An' the sheep to the fauld,
Ye'll mak' a spunk o' fire, lad,
    For my he'rt's turned cauld;
An' whaur the trees are meetin',
There's a sound like waters beatin',
An' the bird seems near to greetin',
    That was aye singin' bauld.

There's jist the tent to leave, lad,
    I've gaithered little gear,
There's jist yersel' to grieve, lad,
    An' the auld dug here;
An' when the morn comes creepin',
An' the waukw'nin' birds are cheipin',
It'll find me lyin' slee...

Oh, happy shades—to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!
How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!


This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders, quivering to the breeze,
Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.


But fix’d unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shows the same sadness everywhere,
And slights the season and the scene.


For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While Peace possess’d these silent bowers,
Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its powers.


The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley musing, slow;
They seek like me the secret shade,
But not like me t...

Andrew Rykman’s dead and gone;
You can see his leaning slate
In the graveyard, and thereon
Read his name and date.

“Trust is truer than our fears,”
Runs the legend through the moss,
“Gain is not in added years,
Nor in death is loss.”

Still the feet that thither trod,
All the friendly eyes are dim;
Only Nature, now, and God
Have a care for him.

There the dews of quiet fall,
Singing birds and soft winds stray:
Shall the tender Heart of all
Be less kind than they?

What he was and what he is
They who ask may haply find,
If they read this prayer of his
Which he left behind.

.        .        .        .        .

Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare
Shape in words a mortal’s prayer!
Prayer, that, when...