To an early Butterfly

Thrice welcome here again, thou flutt'ring thing,
That gaily seek'st about the opening flower,
And opest and shutt'st thy gaudy-spangled wing
Upon its bosom in the sunny hour;
Fond grateful thoughts from thy appearance spring:
To see thee, Fly, warm me once more to sing
His universal care who hapt thee down,
And did thy winter-dwelling please to give.
That Being's smiles on me dampt winter's frown,
And snatch'd me from the storm, and bade me live.
And now again the welcome season's come,
'Tis thine and mine, in nature's grateful pride,
To thank that God who snatch'd us from the tomb,
And stood our prop, when all gave way beside.

The Village Minstrel, and Other Poems (1821)


Clare's 1819 hymn to being alone... with Patty.

The first 14 lines, illustrated by Anne Lee.  The book may be obtained from Anne direct.  As is the way with scans of paper images on special paper, this is really a pale imitation of the real thing.

Song: "The spring may forget that he reigns in the sky"

The spring may forget that he reigns in the sky
& winter again hide her flowers in the snow
The summer may thirst when her fountains are dry
But I'll think of Mary wherever I go
The bird may forget that her nest is begun
When the snow settles white on the new budding tree
& nature in tempests forget the bright sun
But I'll ne'er forget her—that was plighted to me
How could I—how should I—that loved her so early
Forget—when I've sung of her beauty in song
How could I forget—what I've worshiped so dearly
From boyhood to manhood—& all my life long—
As leaves to the branches in summer comes duly
& blossoms will bloom on the stalk & the tree
To her beauty I'll cling—& I'll love her as truly
& think of sweet Mary wherever I be

(lines 477-492) - Child Harold

The Later Poems of John Clare
ed. Eric Robinson and Geoffrey Summerfield
(Manchester University Press, 1964)

SONG "The beauties o' youth lovley Emma adorning"

[Image : Anne Lee]

The beauties o' youth lovley Emma adorning
As the spring is first seen to disclose
When the dew dropping silver o' mays infant morning
Unfolds the sweet blush o' the rose
While her charms—O as varied as summers profusion
& ripe as the autumn for love
In her blue eyes sweet beaming the thrilling confusion
Near failing each bosom to move
While the snows o' the winter improvd on her bosom
No need o' a rival be told
—& O my sad pains—when I 'gan to disclose em
I found it as killing & cold

Early Poems of John Clare 1804-1822
ed. Eric Robinson, David Powell and Margaret Grainger
(Oxford, 2 volumes, I-II, 1989)

The Cross Roads (or Haymakers Story) (Final)

What particularly interests me about this tale is the fact that it was written between January and August 1820 - that most incredible year of Clare's life with celebrity and marriage.

Like Jinny in the tale, in the autumn of 1919 Patty became pregnant 'out of wedlock' with their first daughter Anna Maria.  However, after much self-examination, all too obvious from his poems about the pregnancy, Clare married Patty - as Anne Lee and I have shown in our book "The Poet in Love".  Jinny however in Dame Goodys tale was deserted, and driven by shame to kill herself.

O say not love I too despise thee
& wi malice evil tongud
Slander & reproach against thee
& delight to see thee wrongd
Every arm that vice is urging
At my bared breast they throw
Every weapon raisd against thee
Raises mine to stay the blow

Every tear thy cheek that moistens
Moists the eye that sees it start
Every sigh that rends thy bosom
Thrills its echo in my heart
Every shaft that flies to wound thee
On my aching heart they fall
Every wound that pains thy bosom
Mines the love that shares it all

I have also 'isolated' 18 lines below one of Clare's 'lists'.  Although they do not add a great deal to the narrative, they are a brilliant evocation of the plants that Clare loved.

‘The birds that ranted in the hedgerow boughs
‘As night & morning we have sought our cows
‘With yokes & buckets as she bouncd along
‘Were often deafd to silence with her song
‘But now shes gone—girls shun decietfull men
‘The worst of stumbles ye can fall agen
‘Be deaf to them & then as twere yell see
‘Yer pleasures safe as under lock & key
‘Throw not my words away as many do
‘Theyre gold in value tho theyre cheap to you
‘& husseys hearken & be warnd from this
‘If ye love mothers never do amiss
‘Jane might love hers but she forsook the plan
‘To make her happy when she thought of man
‘Poor tottering dame it was too plainly known
‘Her daughters dying hastend on her own
‘For from the day the tydings reachd her door
‘She took to bed & looked up no more
‘& ere agen another year came round
‘She well as Jane was laid within the ground
‘& all was grievd poor goodys end to see
‘No better neighbour enterd house then she
‘A harmless body wi no 'busive tongue
‘Trig as new pins & tights the day were long
‘& go the week about nine times in ten
‘Yed find her house as cleanly as her sen
‘But Lord protect us time such change does bring
‘We cannot dream what oer our heads may hing
‘The very house she livd in stick & stone
‘Sin goody dyd has tumbld down & gone

‘& where the majoram ance & sage & rue
‘& balm & mint wi curld leaf parsley grew
‘& double marygolds & silver thyme
‘& pumkins neath the window usd to climb
‘& where I often when a child for hours
‘Tryd thro the pails to get the tempting flowers
‘As Ladys Laces everlasting peas
‘True love lies bleeding with the hearts at ease
‘& golden rods & tanzey running high
‘That oer the pail tops smild on passers bye
‘Flowers in my time that every one woud praise
‘Tho thrown like weeds from gardens now adays
‘Were these all grew now henbane stinks & spreads
‘& docks & fissles shake their seedy heads
‘& yearly keeps wi nettles smothering oer
‘Nor house nor dame nor gardens known no more
‘While neighbouring nigh one lonly eldern tree
‘Is all thats left of what had us'd to be

‘Marking the place & bringing up wi tears
‘The recollections of ones younger years
‘& now Ive done yere each at once as free
‘To take yer trundle as ye usd to be
‘To take right ways as Jinney shoud have taen
‘Or headlong run & be a second Jane
‘For by one thoughtless girl thats acted ill
‘A thousand may be guided if they will
‘As oft mong folks to labour bustling on
‘We mark the foremost kick agen a stone
‘Or stumble oer a stile they meant to climb
‘While hind ones see & shun the fall in time
‘But ye Ill bound fort like a mort the best
‘Loves tickling nick nacks & the laughing jest
‘& ten times sooner then be warnd by me
‘Woud each be sitting on some fellows knee
‘& sooner 'lieve the lyes wild chaps will tell
‘Then old dames cautions who woud wish ye well
‘So have yer wills’—
                                    she pinchd her box again
& ceasd her tale & listnd to the rain
Which still as usual patterd fast around
& bowd the bent head loaded to the ground
While larks their naked nests by force forsook
Prund their wet wings in bushes by the brook
The maids impatient now old goody ceasd
As restless childern from the school releasd
Right gladly proving what she'd just foretold
That young ones stories was preferd to old
Turn to the wisperings of their former joy
That oft decieve but very rarely cloy

WHAT a poem!

Village Minstrel (1821)

The Cross Roads (or Haymakers Story) (4)

The photograph is of Jay's grave, near Hound Tor on Dartmoor.  Mary or Kitty Jay was buried here, at the crossroads echoing Clare's story as told by Dame Goody.  More sinned against than sinning, the local church authorities would not have her buried on 'consecrated' land, so she was buried where parish boundaries meet.  Jay's grave always has fresh flowers upon it, winter and summer...

"Yes, miss, it be a grave sure 'nough," [...] " J's grave 'tis called. No, I can't tell 'ee how 'tis spelt for I never couldn't spell. Mary Jay was the poor maid's name. I heard my mother tell of it, when I was a li'l maid. It happened when her was a li'l maid herself. Her could just mind hearing tell of it." [...] "'Tis a suicide's grave, miss." [...] "Her was an orphan from the workhouse, 'prenticed to Barracott Farm between Manaton and Heatree. One day, when her was quite young, her tooked a rope and went to the barn there on the Manaton Road, and hanged herself from a beam. Her was quite dead when the farmer found her." [...] "Us reckoned 'twas the same old story, miss—a young man, who wadn't no gude to her, poor maid."

‘So as I sed next morn I heard the bell
‘& passing neighbours crossd the street to tell
‘That my poor partner Jinney had bin found
‘In the old flag pool on the pasture drownd
 ‘God knows my heart I twitterd like a leaf
‘& found too late the cause of sundays grief
‘For every tongue was loosd to gabble oer
‘The slanderous things that secrets passd before
‘Wi truth or lies they neednt then be strickt
‘The one they raild at coudnt contradict
‘Twas now no secret of her being beguild
‘& every mouth knew Jinny dyd wi child
‘& tho more cautious with a living name
‘They more then guessd her master bore the blame
‘That very morning it affects me still
‘Ye know the foot pad sidles down the hill
‘Ign'rant as babe unborn I passd the pond
‘To milk as usual in our close beyond
‘& cows were drinking at the waters edge
‘& horses brousd among the flags & sedge
‘& nats & migens dancd the water oer
‘Just as Ive markd em scores o' times before
‘& birds sat singing as in mornings gone
‘While I as unconsernd went soodling on
‘But little dreaming as the wakening wind
‘Flappd the broad ash leaves oer the pond reclind
‘& oer the water crinkd the curdld wave
‘That Jane was sleeping in her watery grave
‘The netterd boy that usd to tend the cows
‘While getting whip sticks from the dangling boughs
‘Of osiers drooping by the water side
‘Her bonnet floating on the top espyd
‘He knew it well & hastnd fearful down
‘To take the terror of his fears to town
 ‘A melancholly story far too true
‘& soon the village to the pasture flew
‘Were from the deepest hole the pond about
‘They draggd poor Jinneys lifless body out
‘& took her home were scarce an hour gone bye
‘She had bin living like to you & I
‘I went wi more & kissd her for the last
‘& thought wi tears on pleasures that were past
‘& the last kindness left me then to do
‘I went at milking were her blossoms grew
‘& handfulls got of rose & lambtoe sweet
‘& put them with her in her winding sheet
‘A wilfull murder jury made the crime
‘Nor parson 'lowd to pray nor bell to chyme
‘On the cross roads far from her friends & kin
‘The usual law for such ungodly sin
‘Who violent hands upon themselves have laid
‘Poor Janes last bed unchristian like was made
‘& there like all whose last thoughts turn to heaven
‘She sleeps & doubtless hopd to be forgiven
‘& tho I sayt for maids thus weigld in
‘I think the wicked men deserve the sin
‘& sure enough we all at last shall see
‘The treachery punishd as it ought to be
‘For ere his wickedness pretended love
‘Jane was Ill bound as spotless as the dove
‘&s good a servant still old folks alow
‘As ever scourd a pail or milkd a cow
‘& ere he led her into ruins way
‘As gay & buxom as a summers day

(lines 151-214)

The Cross Roads (or Haymakers Story) (3)

‘A gloomy wanness spoilt her rosey cheek
‘& doubts hung there that was not mine to seek
‘She neer so much as dwelt on things to come
‘But sighd oer pleasures ere she left her home
‘& now & then a mournful smile woud raise
‘At pranks repeated of our younger days
‘As I brought up when passing spots of ground
‘Where we when childern hurly burly'd round
‘Or blind mans bluffd some morts of hours away
‘Two games poor thing Jane dearly lovd to play
‘She smild at these but shakd her head & sighd
‘When ere she thought my look was turnd aside
‘Nor turnd she round as was her former way
‘To praise the thorn white over then with may
‘Nor stooped once tho thousands round her grew
‘To pull a cowslip as she usd to do
‘For Jane in flowers delighted from a child
‘I like the garden but she lovd the wild
‘& oft on sundays young mens gifts declind
‘Flowers bought at gardens of the sweetest kind
‘& eager scrambd the single rose to get
‘& woodbine flowers at every tree we met
‘& lambtoe flowers as soon as caught her eyes
‘Woud start her running to ensure the prize
‘& gay long purple with its tufty spike
‘Shed wade oer shoes to reach it in the dyke
‘& oft while scratting thro the briery woods
‘For tempting cuckoo flowers & vi'let buds
‘Poor Jane Ive known her crying sneak to town
‘& fear her mother when shed tore her gown
'Ah these were days her conscience viewd wi pain
‘Which all are loath to loose as well as Jane
‘& what I took more odd then all the rest
‘Was on that night that she no wish exprest
‘To see the gipseys so belovd before
‘That lay a stones throw from us on the moor
‘I hinted it she just replyd agen
‘She once believd 'em but had doubts since then
‘& when we sought our cows I calld ‘cum mull’
‘But she stood silent for her heart was full
‘She lovd dumb things & ere she milkd begun
‘To fuss & stroke them more then ere shed done
‘& tho her tears stood watering in her eye
‘I little took it as her last good bye
‘For she was tender & Ive often known
‘Her mourn for beetles thats bin trampld on
‘So I neer dreamd from this what soon befell
‘Till the next morning rung her passing bell
‘My storys long but times in plenty yet
‘Sin the black clouds betoken nought but wet
‘& Ill een snatch a minutes breath or two
‘& take another pinch to help me thro

(lines 99-150)