Classic Poem

March month of " many weathers " wildly comes
In hail & snow & rain & threatning hums
& floods: — while often at his cottage door
The shepherd stands to hear the distant roar
Loosd from the rushing mills & river locks
Wi thundering sound & over powering shocks
& headlong hurry thro the meadow brigs
Brushing the leaning willows fingering twigs
In feathering foam & eddy hurrying chase
Rolling a storm oertaken travellers pace
From bank to bank along the meadow leas
Spreading & shining like to little seas
While in the pale sunlight a watery brood
Of swopping white birds flock about the flood
Yet winter seems half weary of its toil
& round the ploughman on the elting soil
Will thread a minutes sunshine wild & warm
Thro the raggd places of the swimming storm
& oft the shepherd in his path will spye
The little daisey in the wet grass lye
That to the peeping sun enlivens gay
Like Labour smiling on an holiday
& were the stunt bank fronts the southern sky
By lanes or brooks were sunbeams love to lye
A cowslip peep will open faintly coy
Soon seen & gatherd by a wandering boy
A tale of spring around the distant haze
Seems muttering pleasures wi the lengthning days
Morn wakens mottld oft wi may day stains
& shower drops hang the grassy sprouting plains
& on the naked thorns of brassy hue
Drip glistning like a summer dream of dew
While from the hill side freshning forest drops
As one might walk upon their thickening tops
& buds wi young hopes promise seemly swells
Were woodman that in wild seclusion dwells
Wi chopping toil the coming spring dec[i]eves
Of many dancing shadows flowers & leaves
& in his pathway down the mossy wood
Crushes wi hasty feet full many a bud
Of early primrose yet if timely spied
Shelterd some old half rotten stump beside
The sight will cheer his solitery hour
& urge his feet to stride & save the flower
Muffld in baffles leathern coat & gloves
The hedger toils oft scaring rustling doves
From out the hedgrows who in hunger browze
The chockolate berrys on the ivy boughs
& flocking field fares speckld like the thrush
Picking the red awe from the sweeing bush
That come & go on winters chilly wing
& seem to share no sympethy wi spring
The stooping ditcher in the water stands
Letting the furrowd lakes from off the lands
Or splashing cleans the pasture brooks of mud
Were many a wild weed freshens into bud
& sprouting from the bottom purply green
The water cresses neath the wave is seen
Which the old woman gladly drags to land
Wi reaching long rake in her tottering hand
The ploughman mawls along the doughy sloughs
& often stop their songs to clean their ploughs
From teazing twitch that in the spongy soil
Clings round the colter terryfying toil
The sower striding oer his dirty way
Sinks anckle deep in pudgy sloughs & clay
& oer his heavy hopper stoutly leans
Strewing wi swinging arms the pattering beans
Which soon as aprils milder weather gleams
Will shoot up green between the furroed seams
The driving boy glad when his steps can trace
The swelling edding as a resting place
Slings from his clotted shoes the dirt around
& feign woud rest him on the solid ground
& sings when he can meet the parting green
Of rushy balks that bend the lands between
While close behind em struts the nauntling crow
& daws whose heads seem powderd oer wi snow
To seek the worms — & rooks a noisey guest
That on the wind rockd elms prepares her nest
On the fresh furrow often drops to pull
The twitchy roots & gathering sticks & wool
Neath trees whose dead twigs litter to the wind
& gaps were stray sheep left their coats behind
While ground larks on a sweeing clump of rushes
Or on the top twigs of the oddling bushes
Chirp their " cree creeing " note that sounds of spring
& sky larks meet the sun wi flittering wing
Soon as the morning opes its brightning eye
Large clouds of sturnels blacken thro the sky
From oizer holts about the rushy fen
& reed shaw borders by the river Nen
& wild geese regiments now agen repair
To the wet bosom of broad marshes there
In marching coloms & attention all
Listning & following their ring leaders call
The shepherd boy that hastens now & then
From hail & snow beneath his sheltering den
Of flags or file leavd sedges tyd in sheaves
Or stubble shocks oft as his eye percieves
Sun threads shrink out wi momentary smiles
Wi fancy thoughts his lonliness beguiles
Thinking the struggling winter hourly bye
As down the edges of the distant sky
The hail storm sweeps — & while he stops to strip
The stooping hedgbriar of its lingering hip
He hears the wild geese gabble oer his head
& pleasd wi fancys in his musings bred
He marks the figurd forms in which they flye
& pausing follows wi a wondering eye
Likening their curious march in curves or rows
To every letter which his memory knows
While far above the solitary crane
Swings lonly to unfrozen dykes again
Cranking a jarring mellancholy cry
Thro the wild journey of the cheerless sky
Full oft at early seasons mild & fair
March bids farewell wi garlands in her hair
Of hazzel tassles woodbines hairy sprout
& sloe & wild plumb blossoms peeping out
In thick set knotts of flowers preparing gay
For aprils reign a mockery of may
That soon will glisten on the earnest eye
Like snow white cloaths hung in the sun to drye
The old dame often stills her burring wheel
When the bright sun will thro the window steal
& gleam upon her face & dancing fall
In diamond shadows on the picturd wall
While the white butterflye as in amaze
Will settle on the glossy glass to gaze
& oddling bee oft patting passing bye
As if they care to tell her spring was nigh
& smiling glad to see such things once more
Up she will get & potter to the door
& look upon the trees beneath the eves
Sweet briar & ladslove swelling into leaves
& damsin trees thick notting into bloom
& goosberry blossoms on the bushes come
& stooping down oft views her garden beds
To see the spring flowers pricking out their heads
& from her apron strings she ll often pull
Her sissars out an early bunch to cull
For flower pots on the window board to stand
Were the old hour glass spins its thread of sand
& maids will often mark wi laughing eye
In elder were they hang their cloaths to drye
The sharp eyd robin hop from grain to grain
Singing its little summer notes again
As a sweet pledge of Spring the little lambs
Bleat in the varied weather round their dams
Or hugh molehill or roman mound behind
Like spots of snow lye shelterd from the wind
While the old yoes bold wi paternal cares
Looses their fears & every danger dares
Who if the shepherds dog but turns his eye
& stops behind a moment passing bye
Will stamp draw back & then their threats repeat
Urging defiance wi their stamping feet
& stung wi cares hopes cannot recconsile
They stamp & follow till he leaps a stile
Or skulking from their threats betakes to flight
& wi the master lessens out of sight
Clowns mark the threetning rage of march pass bye
& clouds wear thin & ragged in the sky
While wi less sudden & more lasting smiles
The growing sun their hopes of spring beguiles
Who often at its end remark wi pride
Days lengthen in their visits a " cocks stride "
Dames clean their candlestiks & set them bye
Glad of the makeshift light that eves supply
The boy returning home at night from toil
Down lane & close oer footbrig gate & style
Oft trembles into fear & stands to hark
The waking fox renew his short gruff bark
While badgers eccho their dread evening shrieks
& to his thrilling thoughts in terror speaks
& shepherds that wi in their hulks remain
Night after night upon the chilly plain
To watch the dropping lambs that at all hours
Come in the quaking blast like early flowers
Demanding all the shepherd[s] care who form
Up walls of straw to make their dwelling warm
& round their necks in wary caution tyes
Long shreds of rags in red or purple dyes
Thats meant in danger as a safty spell
Like the old yoe that wears a tinkling bell
The sneaking foxes from his thefts to fright
That often seizes the young lambs at night
These when they in their nightly watchings hear
The badgers shrieks can hardly stifle fear
They list the noise from woodlands dark recess
Like helpless shrieking woman in distress
& oft as such fears fancying mistery
Believes the dismal yelling sounds to be
For superstitition hath its thousand tales
To people all his midnight woods & vales
& the dread spot from whence the dismal noise
Mars the night musings of their dark employs
Owns its sad tale to realize their fear
At which their hearts in boyhood achd to hear
A maid at night by treacherous love decoyd
Was in that shrieking wood years past destroyd
She went twas said to meet the waiting swain
& home & friends near saw her face again
Mid brakes & thorns that crowded round the dell
& matting weeds that had no tongues to tell
He murderd her alone at dead midnight
While the pale moon threw round her sickly light
& loud shrieks left the thickets slumbers deep
That only scard the little birds from sleep
When the pale murdere[r]s terror frowning eye
Told its dread errand that the maid shoud dye
Mid thick black thorns her secret grave was made
& th[e]re wi night the murderd girl was laid
When no one saw the deed but god & he
& moonlight sparkling thro the sleeping tree
Around — the red breast might at morning steel
There for the worm to meet his morning meal
In fresh turnd moulds that first beheld the sun
Nor knew the deed that dismal night had done
Such is the tale that superstition gives
& in her midnight memory ever lives
That makes the boy run by wi wild affright
& shepherds startle on their rounds at night
Now love teazd maidens from their droning wheels
At the red hour of sun set sliving steals
From scolding dames to meet their swains agen
Tho water checks their visits oer the plain
They slive were no one sees some wall behind
Or orchard apple trees that stops the wind
To talk about springs pleasures hove[r]ing nigh
& happy rambles when the roads get dry
The insect world now sunbeams higher climb
Oft dream of spring & wake before their time
Blue flyes from straw stack crawling scarce alive
& bees peep out on slabs before the hive
Stroaking their little legs across their wings
& venturing short flight were the snow drop hings
Its silver bell — & winter aconite
Wi buttercup like flowers that shut at night
& green leaf frilling round their cups of gold
Like tender maiden muffld from the cold
They sip & find their honey dreams are vain
& feebly hasten to their hives again
& butter flys by eager hopes undone
Glad as a child come out to greet the sun
Lost neath the shadow of a sudden shower
Nor left to see tomorrows april flower