The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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[Ah doubtful bard perhaps in vain] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
522
[Ah doubtful bard perhaps in vain]
Ah doubtful bard perhaps in vainYou scribble your expected gain
Fortunes a hazard all would wait
As hopeful of some better fate
Trembling victims want wears down
Chance deals not worth her smile or frown
A Southey hears the whispering strain
The bards own'd great but sings in vain
A Southey hears his numbers roll
Of poetry the very soul
Go witness his inspired strains
And ask the poet what's the gains
A suffocating shower of praise
A treetops mighty crown of bays
And the same time ah who'd believe
As crawls the louse the beggars sleave
May hopeless faint and poor as thee
Sing those fine strains to Poverty
The scribbler next behold him shine
[Keen] to correct the poets line
In many a wise unmeaning slare
And many a consequential stare
And sits him down and hums along
And finds where he fancies must be wrong
And insect dry discoursing gammer
Tells what's not rhyme and what's not grammar
Leering and pleas'd at faults the while
To help the lame dog o'er the stile
And was this Critic known forsooth
(Twould be ill manners speaking truth)
Spite of his learning glean'd at colledge
His outward titles inward knowledge
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To act Longinus or as such
A Critic brag who learning pothers
So great himself to judge for others
Is just as fit if I discern
As whopstraw lowking in a barn
Who B fro' bulls foot couldn't tell ye
Nor yet the deep hid difference tell ye
Or fitless as with less a farce on
The parish clerk to act the parson
Then smiling at me o'er the table
And told a corresponding fable
‘Mong the wood minstrels years ago
‘There always join'd a scoundrel crow
‘Pretending much to critics learning
‘In singing wonderous deep discerning
‘Such taste such baseness (neer doubt him)
‘Twas vain to sing aught without him
‘Of so much consequence was he
‘Such insolence and poetry
‘As neither blackbird thrust or linnett
‘Could meet in peace to sing a minute
‘Without the jabbering beggars bother
‘In finding fault with one or other
‘Once on a time the croaking devil
‘As fate ordaind bad luck to cavil
‘The birds all met no way to quarrel
‘But just to talk about the laurel
‘Each one to give as was the thesis
‘Of his abilities a species
‘Extempore ode or song to be
‘Or any choice of poetry
‘To's worth and judgment might bequeath
‘The then left vacant laurel wreath
‘Which lay as crowns off left bargaring
‘Till heads were found as worth the wearing
‘The crow still first in each affair
‘As chief decider took the chair
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‘To see who had and had not merit
‘In his eye merits fex were small
‘None earnd a praise faults due to all
‘To some he bid them hold their tongues
‘And never more pretend to songs
‘Best for your selves I'd have ye know it
‘Ye'll never match to be the poet
‘So ne'er be hurt at my refusal
‘But follow your calling 'gain as usual
‘To others he was more a friend
‘And said by practise they might mend
‘Gave hopeful hints when faults confuted
‘As corresponding genius suited
‘And though he said the prize is vain
‘Each competition strove to gain
‘They might in time wi' careful pushes
‘At such a meeting meet their wishes
‘Each bird had sung his ode or sonnet
‘And heard the critics 'pinions on it
‘Some nettld their revenges mutter'd
‘And all disliking inly flutter'd
‘At last a mavis from the bush
‘Or if ye like a mavis thrush
‘Bespoke the criticiser thus
‘Old friend you make a monstrous fuss
‘And find says he uncommon fault
‘More doubtless far than what you ought
‘Sure you must be so vers'd in taste and learning
‘So deep and witty in discerning
‘To judge of others as you do
‘What might we not expect from you
‘You've prov'd us all we've all a fault
‘And no one sings so well's we ought
‘Your singings chance 'bove ours is double
‘The wreath is yours without the trouble
| The early poems of John Clare | |