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John Clare: The Midsummer Cushion

Edited by R. K. R. Thornton & Anne Tibble

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THE RAVENS NEST
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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273

THE RAVENS NEST

Upon the collar of an hugh old oak
Year after year boys mark a curious nest
Of twigs made up a faggot near in size
& boys to reach it try all sorts of schemes
But not a twig to reach with hand or foot
Sprouts from the pillared trunk & as to try
To swarm the massy bulk tis all in vain
They scarce one effort make to hitch them up
But down they sluther soon as ere they try
So long hath been their dwelling there—old men
When passing bye will laugh & tell the ways
They had when boys to climb that very tree
& as it so would seem that very nest
That ne'er was missing from that selfsame spot
A single year in all their memorys
& they will say that the two birds are now
The very birds that owned the dwelling then
Some think it strange yet certaintys at loss
& cannot contradict it so they pass
as old birds living the woods patriarchs
Old as the oldest men so famed & known
That even men will thirst into the fame
Of boys [&] get at schemes that now & then
May captivate a young one from the tree
With iron clamms & bands adventuring up
The mealy trunk or else by waggon ropes
Slung over the hugh grains & so drawn up
By those at bottom one assends secure
With foot rope stirruped—still a perrilous way
So perrilous that one & only one
In memorys of the oldest men was known
To wear his boldness to intentions end
& reach the ravens nest—& thence acchieved
A theme that wonder treasured for supprise
By every cottage hea[r]th the village through
Nor yet forgot though other darers come
With daring times that scale the steeples top
& tye their kerchiefs to the weather cock
As trophys that the dangerous deed was done
Yet even now in these adventureous days
Not one is bold enough to dare the way
Up the old monstrous oak where every spring

274

Finds the two ancient birds at their old task
Repairing the hugh nest—where still they live
Through changes winds & storms & are secure
& like a landmark in the chronicles
Of village memorys treasured up yet lives
The hugh old oak that wears the ravens nest