The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
JOB CHAP. 39 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
JOB CHAP. 39
Knowest thou the time when wild goats breedOn rocks—or mark when the swift hinds calve
Canst thou number the months that they fulfill
Or know the time when they bring forth their young
They bow themselves in travail & bring forth
125
Their young ones are the image of themselves
They grow up with corn go forth & not return
Who hath sent out the wild ass free or who
Hath loosed his weary bonds—whose house I made
The wilderness—his home the barren land
The multitudes of citys are his scorn
Neither regardeth he the drivers cry
His free born pasture is the mountain range
His search is after every thing thats green
Will Unicorns thy slaving voice obey
Or by thy crib abide—or in the glebe
Bind him to trace the furrow—or will he
Harrow the fertile valley after thee
Wilt thou trust him because his strength is great
Or wilt thou leave thy labour to his will
Wilt thou trust him to garner up thy seed
& gather home thine harvest to the barn
Gavest thou the peacocks tail his purple gold
Or wings & feathers to the ostrich tribe
Who leaveth her eggs on the earth to hatch
Warming them in the dust—forgetting that
The foot may crush or wild beast break their shells
Against her young ones she is hard & strange
As though they were not hers—her labour is
In vain withouten fear—God hath deprived
Her heart of reason—understanding lacks
To aid her toils—yet when she soars on high
She scorns both horse & rider in her flight
Hast thou given the horse his strength or cloathed
His neck with thunder—canst thou make him fear
& flee like a grasshopper—the glory
126
He paweth the ground in strength rejoiceing
& goeth onward to meet the battle
He scorns to be affraid & mocks at fear
Neither turneth he away from the sword
Against him the loaded quiver rattles
The glittering spear & the burnished shield
& his untamed fierceness swallows the ground
Neither heeds he the sound of the trumpet
He drives among the trumpets & laugheth ah ah
& the rage of battle he smelleth afar
The thunder of captains & shoutings of war
Doth thy weak wisdom teach the hawk to flye
& stretch her wings toward the southern sky
At thy command doth eagles mount & make
Their nests on high—their erie is the rock
In the strong place & on the rocky crag
From thence their prey is noted & their eyes
Beholdeth far—her young ones suck up blood
& where the slain is—there the eagles flye
| The later poems of John Clare | |