Life and Remains of John Clare Part 6

On seeing him in Fleet Street, Dr. Darling ordered that he should be kept perfectly free from excitement of all kinds, but at the end of two or three weeks he was permitted to meet a literary party composed chiefly of contributors to the "London Magazine." Among the guests were Coleridge, Lamb, De Quincey, Hazlitt, and Allan Cunningham. In the ma.n.u.script memoir to which reference has already been made, Clare noted down his impressions of Coleridge and others, and they are embodied in Mr. Martin's account of this visit. He was a frequent visitor to Mrs. Emmerson, and a few days before he left London was once more thrown into the society of Rippingille, who declared that he had left Bristol solely for the purpose of meeting his friend.

Clare, obeying implicitly the injunctions of Dr. Darling, declined all invitations to revelry, and therefore the companionship was less prejudicial to his health and spirits than on the occasion of his former visit. At his publishers, Clare made the acquaintance of Mr.(afterwards Sir Charles) Elton, brother-in-law of Hallam, the historian, and uncle to the subject of "In Memoriam." Mr. Elton, who was a friend and patron of Rippingille, was much pleased with Clare, and while he was yet in London sent him from Clifton the following metrical epistle, which afterwards appeared in the "London Magazine."

It contains several interesting touches of portraiture:--

So loth, friend John, to quit the town!

'T was in the dales thou won'st renown; I would not, John, for half a crown, Have left thee there, Taking my lonely journey down To rural air.

The pavement flat of endless street Is all unsuited to thy feet, The fog-wet smoke is all unmeet For such as thou, Who thought'st the meadow verdure sweet, But think'st not now.

"Time's hoa.r.s.e unfeather'd nightingales" [3]

Inspire not like the birds of vales: I know their haunts in river dales, On many a tree, And they reserve their sweetest tales, John Clare, for thee.

I would not have thee come to sing Long odes to that eternal spring On which young bards their changes ring, With buds and flowers: I look for many a better thing Than brooks and bowers.

'T is true thou paintest to the eye The straw-thatched roof with elm trees high, But thou hast wisdom to descry What lurks below-- The springing tear, the melting sigh, The cheek's heart-glow.

The poets all, alive and dead, Up, Clare, and drive them from thy head!

Forget whatever thou hast read Of phrase or rhyme, For he must lead and not be led Who lives through time.

What thou hast been the world may see, But guess not what thou still may'st be: Some in thy lines a Goldsmith see, Or Dyer's tone: They praise thy worst; the best of thee Is still unknown.

Some grievously suspect thee, Clare: They want to know thy form of prayer: Thou dost not cant, and so they stare, And hint free-thinking: They bid thee of the devil beware, And vote thee sinking.

With smile sedate and patient eye, Thou mark'st the zealots pa.s.s thee by To rave and raise a hue and cry Against each other: Thou see'st a Father up on high; In man a brother.

I would not have a mind like thine Its artless childhood tastes resign, Jostle in mobs, or sup and dine Its powers away, And after noisy pleasures pine Some distant day.

And, John, though you may mildly scoff, That hard, afflicting churchyard cough Gives pretty plain advice, "Be off, While yet you can."

It is not time yet, John, to doff Your outward man.

Drugs! can the balm of Gilead yield Health like the cowslip-yellow'd field?

Come, sail down Avon and be heal'd, Thou c.o.c.kney Clare.

My recipe is soon reveal'd-- Sun, sea, and air.

What glue has fastened thus thy brains To kennel odours and brick lanes?

Or is it intellect detains?

For, faith, I'll own The provinces must take some pains To match the town.

Does Agnus (1) fling his crotchets wild-- "In wit a man," in heart a child?

Has Lepus (2) sense thine ear beguiled With easy strain?

Or hast thou nodded blithe, and smiled At Ja.n.u.s' (3) vein?

Does Nalla, (4) that mild giant, bow His dark and melancholy brow?

Or are his lips distending now With roaring glee That tells the heart is in a glow-- The spirit free?

Or does the Opium-eater (5) quell Thy wondering sprite with witching spell?

Read'st thou the dreams of murkiest h.e.l.l In that mild mien?

Or dost thou doubt yet fear to tell Such e'er have been?

And while around thy board the wine Lights up the glancing eyeb.a.l.l.s' shine, Seest thou in elbow'd thought recline The Poet true (6) Who in "Colonna" seems divine To me and you?

But, Clare, the birds will soon be flown: Our Cambridge wit resumes his gown: Our English Petrarch trundles down To Devon's valley: Why, when our Maga's out of town, Stand shilly-shally?

The table-talk of London still Shall serve for chat by rock and rill, And you again may have your fill Of season'd mirth, But not if spade your chamber drill Six feet in earth.

Come, then! Thou never saw'st an oak Much bigger than a wagon spoke: Thou only could'st the Muse invoke On treeless fen: Then come and aim a higher stroke, My man of men.

The wheel and oar, by gurgling steam, Shall waft thee down the wood-brow'd stream, And the red channel's broadening gleam Dilate thy gaze, And thou shalt conjure up a theme For future lays.

And thou shalt have a jocund cup To wind thy spirits gently up-- A stoup of hock or claret cup Once in a way, And we'll take notes from Mistress Gupp (8) That same glad day.

And Rip Van Winkle (9) shall awake From his loved idlesse for thy sake, In earnest stretch himself, and take Pallet on thumb, Nor now his brains for subjects rake-- John Clare is come!

His touch will, hue by hue, combine Thy thoughtful eyes, that steady shine, The temples of Shakesperian line, The quiet smile, The sense and shrewdness which are thine, Withouten guile.

The following key accompanied the letter on its publication:--

1. Agnus = Charles Lamb.

2. Lepus = Julius Hare, author of "Guesses at Truth."

3. Ja.n.u.s = The writer in the "London Magazine" who signed himself Ja.n.u.s Weatherc.o.c.k.

4. Nalla = Allan Cunningham.

5. Opium-eater = De Quincey, author of "The Confessions of an English Opium-eater."

6. The Poet true = The writer who a.s.sumes the name of Barry Cornwall.

7. The English Petrarch = The Rev. Mr. Strong, translator of Italian sonnets.

8. Mistress Gupp = A lady immortalized by her invention to keep m.u.f.fins warm on the lid of the tea-urn.

9. Rip Van Winkle = E. V. Rippingille, painter of the "Country Post Office," the "Portrait of a Bird," &c.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM

The friendship of Allan Cunningham was always highly prized by Clare, and shortly after his return from London he sent him an autograph of Bloomfield, the receipt of which Cunningham acknowledged in the following letter:--

"27, Belgrave Place, 23rd September, 1824.

Dear Clare,--

I thank you much for Bloomfield's note, and as much for your own kind letter. I agree with you in the praise you have given to his verse.

That he has living life about his productions there can be little doubt. He trusts too much to Nature and to truth to be a fleeting favourite, and he will be long in the highway where Fame dispenses her favours. I have often felt indignant at the insulting way his name has been introduced both by critics and poets. To scorn him because of the humility of his origin is ridiculous anywhere, and most of all here, where so many of our gentles and n.o.bles have come from the clods of the valley. Learned men make many mistakes about the value of learning. I conceive it is chiefly valuable to a man's genius in enabling him to wield his energies with greater readiness or with better effect. But learning, though a polisher and a refiner, is not the creator. It may be the mould out of which genius stamps its coin, but it is not the gold itself. I am glad to hear that you are a little better. Keep up your heart and sing only when you feel the internal impulse, and you will add something to our poetry more lasting than any of the peasant bards of old England have done yet.

I remain, dear Clare, your very faithful friend,