John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | ||
374
THE SHEPHERD
When the bloom on the black thorn shines white in the sun
& the rook begins building her nest
When the lambs round the molehillocks gambol & run
Then the shepherds glad toil is the best
From the dust of the barn where the cobwebs in ropes
Hang down from the roof & the wall
& the thresher alone oer his dull labour mopes
While the barndoor fowl cackle & squall
& the rook begins building her nest
When the lambs round the molehillocks gambol & run
Then the shepherds glad toil is the best
From the dust of the barn where the cobwebs in ropes
Hang down from the roof & the wall
& the thresher alone oer his dull labour mopes
While the barndoor fowl cackle & squall
The shepherd while Dolly sits milking her cow
Stands telling love tales & the like
Or takes a few rounds with his partner at plough
& then he leaps over the dyke
& hies him away to his sheep in the close
Where the blackcap sings loud in his ear
& thus with his labour & pleasant discourse
He enjoys the new smiles of the year
Stands telling love tales & the like
Or takes a few rounds with his partner at plough
& then he leaps over the dyke
& hies him away to his sheep in the close
Where the blackcap sings loud in his ear
& thus with his labour & pleasant discourse
He enjoys the new smiles of the year
In the morning he lets out his sheep from the pen
While the wood piegon cooes in the tree
& drives them away to the green springing glen
Where the pewet sweeps over the lea
& there he roams round till the shut of the sun
& sees the bird building its nest
& when his half play & half labour is done
He whistles away to his rest
While the wood piegon cooes in the tree
& drives them away to the green springing glen
Where the pewet sweeps over the lea
& there he roams round till the shut of the sun
& sees the bird building its nest
& when his half play & half labour is done
He whistles away to his rest
While his dog snufts the path with a eager delight
Oft starting the rabit & hare
Who venture the new sprouting grasses to bite
As far from the wood as they dare
& first at the cottage he scrats at the door
To tell that his master is come
& there the glad shepherd drops down in his chair
& tells his day stories at home
Oft starting the rabit & hare
Who venture the new sprouting grasses to bite
As far from the wood as they dare
& first at the cottage he scrats at the door
To tell that his master is come
& there the glad shepherd drops down in his chair
& tells his day stories at home
Or takes up a book full of stories & songs
Reading such as his fancies admire
While his childern ride cock horse on poker & tongues
& his dog licks his feet at the fire
Often musing awhile oer the comforts he feels
Then to bed untill morning again
When his dog is heard barking aloud at his heels
As he whistles away to the plain
Reading such as his fancies admire
While his childern ride cock horse on poker & tongues
& his dog licks his feet at the fire
Often musing awhile oer the comforts he feels
Then to bed untill morning again
375
As he whistles away to the plain
John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion | ||