Queen of fairey land

Kate was the queen upon that merry night 
& rode upon the waggon drest in white 
The stranger oft looked up to see her stand 
& smiling called her “queen of fairey land”

That harvest supper we had morts of fun 
& Farmer Sparks was there a neighbours son 
He was her fathers choice who dreamed of gain 
& talked of marriage as he would of grain 
He vainly tryed young Kittys smiles to share 
& next her without bidding took his chair 
Full oft with gracious simperings looking up 
To drink to Kitty oer the silver cup

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Sings sweet smiles

The chaffinch in the hedgerow sings, by a brown and naked thorn
By it's tail the titmouse hings searching the buds at morn
I'll wish dirty roads away and the meadows flooded water
And court before I end the day the Gardner's bonny daughter

She's sweeter than the first of spring , more fair than Christmas roses
When Robins by the hovel sings sweet smiles this maid discloses
Her hair so brown her eyes so bright as clear as meadow water
I'll go and have a word tonight with the gardners bonny daughter

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Snow clothd valley

Hail scenes of Desolation & despair 
Keen Winters over bearing sport & scorn 
Torn by his Rage in ruins as you are 
To me more pleasing then a summers morn 
Your shatterd scenes appear despoild & bare 
Stript of your clothing naked & forlorn 
Yes Winters havoc wretched as you shine 
Dismal to others as your fate may seem 
Your fate is pleasing to this heart of mine 
Your wildest horrors I the most esteem
The ice-bound floods that still with rigour freeze 
The snow clothd valley & the naked tree 
These sympathising scenes my heart can please 
Distress is theirs & they resemble me

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Mice

Unperceived through key-holes creep
When all around have sunk to sleep
To feast on what the cotter leaves
Mice are not reckoned greater thieves
They take away as well as eat
& still the housewifes eye they cheat
In spite of all the folks that swarm
In cottage small & larger farm
They through each key-hole pop & pop
Like wasps into a grocers shop

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Solitude

Clare's publisher John Taylor removed the following lines from the published text of 'Solitude' in ‘The Village Minstrel’.  Working with Clare's original manuscript,  I have simply assembled them in the order in which they appear, dotted through the scribbled pages.   Why were these lines deleted?  No-one has any idea.

    

    O how sweet I cannot tell
    With thee at that hour to dwell
    Stretchd the mossy bank beside
    Lye to view the random tide
    Where no clowns has chopt from thence
    Bush nor stake to mend his fence

    Cornerd stones & pebbles round
    Breaking dasht wi mellow sound
    Wether this or that to see
    I am blest if Im wi thee
    & full dear has been the hour
    Spent wi in thy noon day bower
    Prest wi thee thy mossy seat
    O its unexpressive sweet

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The blushing morn

O now the crimson east its fire streak burning 


Tempts me to wander neath the blushing morn 


Winding the zig zag lane turning & turning 


As winds the crooked fences wilderd thorn 


O wheres the eye can gaze upon the dawn 
 

That flushes yon blue sky of cloudless heaven 


& gilds the prospect round below—what eye 


Can look upon the beautys morn has given 


& look unmovd sure neer a soul thats living 


The soul must be extinct who passes bye 


I cannot pass the very bramble weeping 


Neath dewy tear drops that its spears surround 


Like harlots mockery on the wan cheek creeping 


Gilding the poison that is meant to wound 


I cannot pass the bent ere gales have shaken 


Its transient crowning off each point adorning 


But all the feelings of my soul awaken 


To own the witcheries of most lovley morning 


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A lovely charm

I love the raving winds the murky gloom 
& I love the sea 
When ocean billows burst in frothy hum 
& where they silent be

I love the rough & smooth of natures voice 
The quiet & the rude 
For Nature never had unpleasant voice 
But sweet as Solitude 

I love the tumult in the forest trees 
& wood winds to hear 
In natures soul of quiet sympathies 
There—ther's nought to fear 
Nothing creating pain or harm 
& no noises rude 
The loud tongued thunder is a lovely charm 
A companion in solitude

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