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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LUBIN & COLLIN
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
LUBIN & COLLIN
A Pastoral
CollinCome Lubin let us leave this maple tree
Or we shall soon be dripping wet I see
E'en now (so thin the straggling branches spread)
The rain begins to patter on my head
Lubin
With all my heart for I could wish to gain
Our poor old hut that stands beside the plain
For see yon black'ning cloud begins to lower
And that loud hissing speaks a heavier shower
The sooner the better we get there I know
Then no more parley I'lle this instant go
460
Running so hard has put me out of breath
But I dont care so long as I'm beneath
This welcome hut once more—for now beguy
Rain e're so hard my shelter keeps me dry
Bring that shift tray & place it for a door
And strew that bunche of rushes on the floor
I'll sit me down and con my lesson well
For I have got a pleasant tale to tell
And something on your side—
Lubin
—why have you tho?
Then I dont care how soon you let me know
Collin
I mean to tell you all I've heard & seen
Since I've been keeping sheep upon the green
Whether by chance or how I cannot tell
Before I never speeded half so well
When going along one day to shift my penn
Some time last week but now I can't say when
Lubin
Well never mind the day nor when nor where
Tell me the tale that's all I whant to hear
Collin
Then you must know as I was going along
List'ning attentive to the woodlarks song
I heard or thought I h[e]ard a cheering sound
Come sweetly breathing oer the fallow ground
So soft so graceful did the tones combine
Young Thenot's piping ne'er was half so fine
Away I brush't inquisitive to know
From whence & where such Melody could flow
But when on coming near about the spot
The sounds where vanish'd & the song was not
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Aye how was that—it should be something quere
To hear far off and lose the sound when near
Twas fancy sure—but never mind what past
The heads give now and tell the substance last
| The early poems of John Clare | |