 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
MARTEN
The marten cat, long-shagged, of courage good,
Of weasel shape, a dweller in the wood,
With badger hair, long-shagged, and darting eyes,
And lower than the common cat in size,
Small head, and ever running on the stoop,
Snuffing the ground, and hind-parts shouldered up—
He keeps one track and hides in lonely shade
Where print of human foot is never made,
Save when the woods are cut: the beaten track
The woodman's dog will snuff, cock-tailed and black,
Red-legged, and spotted over either eye:
Snuffs, barks, and scrats the lice, and passes by.
The great brown hornèd owl looks down below,
And sees the shaggy marten come and go.
Of weasel shape, a dweller in the wood,
With badger hair, long-shagged, and darting eyes,
And lower than the common cat in size,
336
Snuffing the ground, and hind-parts shouldered up—
He keeps one track and hides in lonely shade
Where print of human foot is never made,
Save when the woods are cut: the beaten track
The woodman's dog will snuff, cock-tailed and black,
Red-legged, and spotted over either eye:
Snuffs, barks, and scrats the lice, and passes by.
The great brown hornèd owl looks down below,
And sees the shaggy marten come and go.
The marten hurries through the woodland gaps,
And poachers shoot and make his skin for caps.
When any woodmen come and pass the place,
He looks at dogs and scarcely mends his pace.
And gipsies often and bird-nesting boys
Look in the hole and hear a hissing noise.
They climb the tree—such noise they never heard,
And think the great owl is a foreign bird;
When the grey owl her young ones cloaks in down,
Seizes the boldest boy and drives him down.
They try agen and pelt to start the fray.
The grey owl comes and drives them all away,
And leaves the marten twisting round his den,
Left free from boys and dogs and noisy men.
And poachers shoot and make his skin for caps.
When any woodmen come and pass the place,
He looks at dogs and scarcely mends his pace.
And gipsies often and bird-nesting boys
Look in the hole and hear a hissing noise.
They climb the tree—such noise they never heard,
And think the great owl is a foreign bird;
When the grey owl her young ones cloaks in down,
Seizes the boldest boy and drives him down.
They try agen and pelt to start the fray.
The grey owl comes and drives them all away,
And leaves the marten twisting round his den,
Left free from boys and dogs and noisy men.
| The Poems of John Clare | |