 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
412
ANTIQUITY
Antiquity, thou dark sublime,
Though mystery wakes thy song,
Thou dateless child of hoary Time,
Thy name shall linger long!
In vain Age bared Destruction's arm
To blight thy strength and fame;
Learning still keeps thy embers warm,
And kindles them to flame.
Though mystery wakes thy song,
Thou dateless child of hoary Time,
Thy name shall linger long!
In vain Age bared Destruction's arm
To blight thy strength and fame;
Learning still keeps thy embers warm,
And kindles them to flame.
Nay, learning's self may turn to dust,
And ignorance again
May leave its glimmering lamp to rust;
Antiquity shall reign!
Creation's self thy date shall be,
And Earth's age be as thine;
The sun and moon are types of thee,
Nor shall they longer shine.
And ignorance again
May leave its glimmering lamp to rust;
Antiquity shall reign!
Creation's self thy date shall be,
And Earth's age be as thine;
The sun and moon are types of thee,
Nor shall they longer shine.
Though Time may o'er thy memory leap,
And Ruin's frowns encroach;
Eternity shall start from sleep
To hear thy near approach.
Though bounds are for thy station set,
Still, ere those bounds are past,
Thy fame with Time shall struggle yet,
And die with Time the last.
And Ruin's frowns encroach;
Eternity shall start from sleep
To hear thy near approach.
Though bounds are for thy station set,
Still, ere those bounds are past,
Thy fame with Time shall struggle yet,
And die with Time the last.
Whene'er I walk where thou hast been,
And still art doomed to be,
Reflection wakens at the scene,
As at eternity;
To think what days in millions by
Have bade suns rise and set
On thy unwearied gazing eye,
And left thee looking yet!
And still art doomed to be,
Reflection wakens at the scene,
As at eternity;
To think what days in millions by
Have bade suns rise and set
On thy unwearied gazing eye,
And left thee looking yet!
While those that raised thy early fame
With hope's persisting hand,
During as marble left thy name
And graved their own on sand:
That same sun did its smiles impart,
In that same spreading sky,
When thou wert left; and here thou art,
Like one that cannot die!
With hope's persisting hand,
During as marble left thy name
And graved their own on sand:
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In that same spreading sky,
When thou wert left; and here thou art,
Like one that cannot die!
On the first page that Time unfurled,
Thy childhood did appear,
And now thy volume is the world,
And thou art everywhere.
Each leaf is filled with many a doom
Of kingdoms past away,
Where tyrant power in little room
Records its own decay.
Thy childhood did appear,
And now thy volume is the world,
And thou art everywhere.
Each leaf is filled with many a doom
Of kingdoms past away,
Where tyrant power in little room
Records its own decay.
Thy Roman fame o'er England still
Swells many a lingering scar,
Where Caesars led, with conquering skill,
Their legions on to war:
And camps and stations still abide
On many a sloping hill;
Though Time hath done its all to hide—
Thy presence guards them still.
Swells many a lingering scar,
Where Caesars led, with conquering skill,
Their legions on to war:
And camps and stations still abide
On many a sloping hill;
Though Time hath done its all to hide—
Thy presence guards them still.
The moss that crowns the mountain stone,
The grass that greens the plain,
All love to make thy haunts their own,
And with thy steps remain.
And ivy, as thy lasting bower,
In gloomy grandeur creeps,
And, careless of life's passing hour,
Its endless summer keeps.
The grass that greens the plain,
All love to make thy haunts their own,
And with thy steps remain.
And ivy, as thy lasting bower,
In gloomy grandeur creeps,
And, careless of life's passing hour,
Its endless summer keeps.
I walk with thee my native plains,
As in a nobler clime,
Rapt where thy memory still remains,
Disciple unto Time,
Whose foot in ruins crushed Power's fame,
And left its print behind,
Till Ruin, weary of its name,
Their fate to thee resigned.
As in a nobler clime,
Rapt where thy memory still remains,
Disciple unto Time,
Whose foot in ruins crushed Power's fame,
And left its print behind,
Till Ruin, weary of its name,
Their fate to thee resigned.
414
And 'neath thy care, in mist sublime,
They reign and linger still;
Though ivy finds no wall to climb,
Grass crowns each swelling hill;
Where slumbering Time will often find
His rebel deeds again,
And turn a wondering look behind
To see them still remain.
They reign and linger still;
Though ivy finds no wall to climb,
Grass crowns each swelling hill;
Where slumbering Time will often find
His rebel deeds again,
And turn a wondering look behind
To see them still remain.
Thus through the past thy name appears,
All hoary and sublime,
Unburied in the grave of years,
To run its race with Time;
While men, as sunbeams gild the brook,
Shine till a cloud comes on,
And then, ere Time a stride hath took,
Their name and all is gone.
All hoary and sublime,
Unburied in the grave of years,
To run its race with Time;
While men, as sunbeams gild the brook,
Shine till a cloud comes on,
And then, ere Time a stride hath took,
Their name and all is gone.
Temple and tower of mighty name,
And monumental bust,
Neglect the errands of their fame,
And mingle with the dust:
The clouds of ruin soon efface
What pride had told in vain;
But still thy genius haunts the place,
And long thy steps remain.
And monumental bust,
Neglect the errands of their fame,
And mingle with the dust:
The clouds of ruin soon efface
What pride had told in vain;
But still thy genius haunts the place,
And long thy steps remain.
Lorn Silence o'er their mystery dreams,
And round them Nature blooms
Sad, as a May-flower's dwelling seems
With solitary tombs!
Round where their buried memory sleeps,
Spring spreads its dewy sky
In tender mood, as one that weeps
Life's faded majesty.
And round them Nature blooms
Sad, as a May-flower's dwelling seems
With solitary tombs!
Round where their buried memory sleeps,
Spring spreads its dewy sky
In tender mood, as one that weeps
Life's faded majesty.
Time's frost may crumble stubborn towers,
Fame once believed its own;
Thou still art reigning, past his powers,
And ruin builds thy throne:
When all is past, the very ground
Is sacred unto thee;
When dust and weeds hide all around,
That dust thy home shall be.
Fame once believed its own;
Thou still art reigning, past his powers,
And ruin builds thy throne:
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Is sacred unto thee;
When dust and weeds hide all around,
That dust thy home shall be.
| The Poems of John Clare | |