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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THE HARVEST MORNING |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
434
THE HARVEST MORNING
Cocks wake the early morn wi' many a Crow
Loud ticking village clock has counted four
The labouring rustic hears his restless foe
& weary bones & pains complaining sore
Hobbles to fetch his horses from the moor
Some busy 'gin to team the loaded corn
Which night throng'd round the barns becrouded door
Such plentious scenes the farmers yards adorn
Such busy bustling toils now mark the harvest morn
Loud ticking village clock has counted four
The labouring rustic hears his restless foe
& weary bones & pains complaining sore
Hobbles to fetch his horses from the moor
Some busy 'gin to team the loaded corn
Which night throng'd round the barns becrouded door
Such plentious scenes the farmers yards adorn
Such busy bustling toils now mark the harvest morn
The birdboy's pealing horn is loudly blow'd
The waggons jostle on wi' rattling sound
& hogs & geese now throng the dusty road
Grunting & gabbling in contension round
The barley ears that litter on the ground—
What printing traces mark the waggons way
What busy bustling wakens echo round
How drives the suns warm beams the mist away
How labour sweats & toils & dreads the sultry day
The waggons jostle on wi' rattling sound
& hogs & geese now throng the dusty road
Grunting & gabbling in contension round
The barley ears that litter on the ground—
What printing traces mark the waggons way
What busy bustling wakens echo round
How drives the suns warm beams the mist away
How labour sweats & toils & dreads the sultry day
435
His scythe the mower oer his shoulder leans
& wetting jars wi' sharp & tinkling sound
Then sweeps again 'mong corn & crackling beans
& swath by swath flops lengthening oer the ground
While 'neath some friendly heap snug shelterd round
From spoiling sun lies hid their hearts delight
& hearty soaks oft hand the bottle round
Their toils pursuing with redoubl'd might
Refreshments cordial hail—
Great praise to him be due that brought thy birth to light
& wetting jars wi' sharp & tinkling sound
Then sweeps again 'mong corn & crackling beans
& swath by swath flops lengthening oer the ground
While 'neath some friendly heap snug shelterd round
From spoiling sun lies hid their hearts delight
& hearty soaks oft hand the bottle round
Their toils pursuing with redoubl'd might
Refreshments cordial hail—
Great praise to him be due that brought thy birth to light
Upon the waggon now with eager bound
The lusty picker wirls the rustling sheaves
Or ponderous resting creaking fork aground
Boastful at once whole shocks o' barley heaves
The loading boy revengefull inly greaves
To find his unmatch'd strength & power decay
Tormenting horns his garments inter weaves
Smarting & sweating 'neath the sultry day
Wi' muttering curses stung he mauls the heaps away
The lusty picker wirls the rustling sheaves
Or ponderous resting creaking fork aground
Boastful at once whole shocks o' barley heaves
The loading boy revengefull inly greaves
To find his unmatch'd strength & power decay
Tormenting horns his garments inter weaves
Smarting & sweating 'neath the sultry day
Wi' muttering curses stung he mauls the heaps away
A Motley group the Clearing field surounds
Sons of Humanity O neer deny
The humble gleaner entrance in your grounds
Winters sad cold & poverty is nigh
O grudge not providence her scant suply
You'll never miss it from your ample store—
Who gives denial harden'd hungry hound
May never blessings crow'd his hated door
But he shall never lack that giveth to the poor
Sons of Humanity O neer deny
The humble gleaner entrance in your grounds
Winters sad cold & poverty is nigh
O grudge not providence her scant suply
You'll never miss it from your ample store—
Who gives denial harden'd hungry hound
May never blessings crow'd his hated door
But he shall never lack that giveth to the poor
436
Ah lovley Ema mingling wi' the rest
Thy beauties blooming in low life unseen
Thy rosey cheeks thy sweetly swelling breast
But ill it suits thee in the stubs to glean
O poverty! how basely you demean
The imprison'd worth your rigid fates confine
Not fancied charms of an arcadian queen
So sweet as Emas real beauties shine
Had fortune blest sweet girl this lot had neer been thine
Thy beauties blooming in low life unseen
Thy rosey cheeks thy sweetly swelling breast
But ill it suits thee in the stubs to glean
O poverty! how basely you demean
The imprison'd worth your rigid fates confine
Not fancied charms of an arcadian queen
So sweet as Emas real beauties shine
Had fortune blest sweet girl this lot had neer been thine
The suns increasing heat now mounted high
Refreshment must recruit exausted power
The waggon stops the busy tools thrown bye
& 'neath a shock's enjoy'd the beavering hour
The bashful maid—sweet healths engaging flower
Lingering behind—oer rake still blushing bends
& when to take the horn fond swains implore
With feign'd excuses its dislike pretends
So pass the beavering hours—So harvest morning ends
Refreshment must recruit exausted power
The waggon stops the busy tools thrown bye
& 'neath a shock's enjoy'd the beavering hour
The bashful maid—sweet healths engaging flower
Lingering behind—oer rake still blushing bends
& when to take the horn fond swains implore
With feign'd excuses its dislike pretends
So pass the beavering hours—So harvest morning ends
O rural life what charms thy meaness hide
What sweet descriptions bards disdain to sing
What Loves what Graces on thy plains abide
O could I soar me on the muses wing
What riffel'd charms should my researches bring
Pleas'd would I wander where these charms reside
Of rural sports & beauties would I sing
Those beauties wealth which you but vain deride
Beauties of richest bloom superior to your pride
What sweet descriptions bards disdain to sing
What Loves what Graces on thy plains abide
O could I soar me on the muses wing
What riffel'd charms should my researches bring
Pleas'd would I wander where these charms reside
Of rural sports & beauties would I sing
Those beauties wealth which you but vain deride
Beauties of richest bloom superior to your pride
| The early poems of John Clare | |