 | John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion |  |
354
EXPECTATION
A BALLAD
Tis saturday night & my shepherd will come
With a hollow & whistle for me
Be clear o ye skyes take your storm burtherns home
Let no rain drench our favourite tree
For I fear by the things that are hopping about
Theres a sign of a storm coming on
The Frog looks as black as the Toad that creeps out
From under its hiding stone
With a hollow & whistle for me
Be clear o ye skyes take your storm burtherns home
Let no rain drench our favourite tree
For I fear by the things that are hopping about
Theres a sign of a storm coming on
The Frog looks as black as the Toad that creeps out
From under its hiding stone
The cat with her tail runneth round till she reels
& the pigs race with mouthfulls of hay
I sigh at the sight—& felt sick over meals
For Im lone when my shepherds away
When dogs eat the grass it is sure to be rain
& our dogs in the orchard—een now
The swallows flye lowe & my heart is in pain
While the flyes even maddened the cow
& the pigs race with mouthfulls of hay
I sigh at the sight—& felt sick over meals
For Im lone when my shepherds away
When dogs eat the grass it is sure to be rain
& our dogs in the orchard—een now
The swallows flye lowe & my heart is in pain
While the flyes even maddened the cow
The piegons have moped on the cote the day long
& the hens went to bed before noon
The blackbirds long still din the woods with their song
& they look upon showers as a boon
While they keep their nest dry in the wet hazel bush
& moisten their black sutty wing
Did they know but my sorrows they'd quickly be hush
Birds to make lovers happy should sing
& the hens went to bed before noon
The blackbirds long still din the woods with their song
& they look upon showers as a boon
While they keep their nest dry in the wet hazel bush
& moisten their black sutty wing
Did they know but my sorrows they'd quickly be hush
Birds to make lovers happy should sing
& Ive often leaned oer the crofts mossy gate
To listen birds singing at night
When I for the surefooted Rover did wait
& rich was my bosoms delight
& sweet had it been now Im waiting anew
Till the black snail is out from the grain
But the souths ruddy clouds they have turned black & blue
& the blackbirds are singing for rain
To listen birds singing at night
When I for the surefooted Rover did wait
& rich was my bosoms delight
& sweet had it been now Im waiting anew
Till the black snail is out from the grain
But the souths ruddy clouds they have turned black & blue
& the blackbirds are singing for rain
The Thrush “wivy wit wivy wit” tother night
Sung aloud in the old sallow bush
& I called him a pert little urchin outright
To sing “heavy wet”—And the Thrush
Changed his note in a moment to “cheer up” & “cheer”
& the clouds crept away from the sun
Till my shepherd he came & when Thrushes I hear
My heart with the music is won
Sung aloud in the old sallow bush
& I called him a pert little urchin outright
To sing “heavy wet”—And the Thrush
Changed his note in a moment to “cheer up” & “cheer”
355
Till my shepherd he came & when Thrushes I hear
My heart with the music is won
But the blackbird is rude & insulting & now
The more the clouds blacken the sky
The louder he sings from the green hazel bough
But he may be sad bye & bye
For the cowboy is stooping beneath the oak tree
Whose branches hang down to the ground
& beating his stick on the bushes to see
If a bird startles out from the sound
The more the clouds blacken the sky
The louder he sings from the green hazel bough
But he may be sad bye & bye
For the cowboy is stooping beneath the oak tree
Whose branches hang down to the ground
& beating his stick on the bushes to see
If a bird startles out from the sound
So silence is safety & bird have a care
Or your song will your dwelling betray
For yesterday morning I saw your nest there
But sung not to fright ye away
& now the boys near you—well done cunning bird
You have ceased & popt out tother side
Your nest it is safe not a leaf has he stirred
& I have my shepherd descried
Or your song will your dwelling betray
For yesterday morning I saw your nest there
But sung not to fright ye away
& now the boys near you—well done cunning bird
You have ceased & popt out tother side
Your nest it is safe not a leaf has he stirred
& I have my shepherd descried
| John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | |