The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1877-08-19

The pent sea throbbed as # rackod with pain.
Some black clouds rose and suddenly rode
Right into the town. The thunder strobe
AS giant strlding from star to star
Then turned upon earth and franticaly came,
Shaking the hollow heaven. And far
And near red lightning in ribbon and sken
DIG writc upon heaven Jehovah s name.
Then ligntnngs went weaving like shuttlscocks,
Weaving black raimcnt oil clouds Tor DEATH
The mute doves Jew " Saint Mark in nocks.
And men stood leaning with gathered breath
Black gondoas few mover before
And drew ike crocodilcs up on the shore;
And vessels ut sea stood further At sca,
And seamen hauled with u Bonded knee
Then canvas came down to Lett and To right
And ships stood stripped as If stripped Tor lghti
We are glad that Mr. Miller has como tae sensible
conclusion found in tho accompanying sIanzas OF q
poem entitled 'Pace lmplora" We hope that be Will
act upon the mood -
Better 1t were Tor the world, say,
Better indeed Tor mans own good,
That no should sit stu whore he was bor-
BE IL land OF SAID or oil oil ana corn
White sou border or great black wood,
Bleak white winter or bland sweet May,
Than to wander tho world, as have done,
For tho dear woman that Is under the sun
Better abide though tho skies DO dun,
And the rivers espouscd OF tho leo and snow;
Better abide though the thistes grow.
And the city OF smoke DC obscured OF tho sun
Than 10 seek rcd poppies and the sweet dreamland-
Than TO wander tho world MS to-day,
Breaking the heart into bits like clay,
And leaving II scattered upon every hand.
from His Friends AMI Contemporaries, Extracts from
His Diary, Prose Fragments, Old Ballads. Collected
by Clare. BY J. l.. Cherry. London: Frederick
Warne Co. New York: Scribner, Armstrong u Co.
Another poet who was born and not made was J ohm
Clare, the Nortnamptonshro peasant poet. There is
similarity, however, between the fCaro and
Mat Of Miller, except perhaps, where tho latter stops
IN wild Callop across the plains 10 paint the land
scapc shaken from his horses heels. Clare is poet
too little known In this country, yet he has written
some dainty little poems wcro pcnned. His
descriptions OF country lanes real and beautiful
IS OF Birket Fosters pictures. Such verses as
his could only como from inspiration. This peasant
poet born at epstonc near Peterborough, the
18th OF July. 1913 He the elder OF twins and was
80 small infant that his mother used
TO say, John might have been put into u
pint pot" HIS parents paupers at the
time OF his birth, being both afflicted with
disease unable to support themselves. Clare in-
herited the low vitality OF his parents and subject
Sc depressing ailments up TO middle life, when losing
bis mental powers, his physical health improved and
1t the end he presented the appearance OF sturdy
Eooman Has temperament was highly poetic, but mad
little to feed upon save nature. That book he read
freely, and by 1t he was inspired His life was u sad
He was upappreciated by his townsfoik who
looked upon poet ewhat ia the light the
good people OF Salem looked upon witch. AS lad he
worked hostler inn and later us a gardener
In early manhood he obtained employ ment as lime
burner, at which he earned ten shillngs week. He
srole several OF hrs best poems this time OF which
ae says
found the poems in the fields,
And only wrote them down.
Clare, like great many poets, had unfortunate
Owe affair, HIS hrst love for Mary Joyce, a
farmers daughter. at Clinton. The girl smiled upon
his suit but the stern farmer scorned the poor poet
and forbade him his bouse. Eventually Clare mar
fled Patty Turner, also farmer Is daughter but his
ideal wfc was Mary. large number OF has poems
addressed boldly 10 his first love- and many Others
bear her in their stanzas. Duty compelled
him to address poem 10 his wife, which duly bears
The name OF Patty. Ono form OF his insanity while III
She asylum to write to Mary, VINO at that
hme long dead, signing himself Your aaecaionate
husband John Clare" Ono timo he escaped from tho
asylum and reached Peterborough, alter beng four
lays and three nights inc road and being 80 near
10 starvation that no was compelled 10 cat tho
grass along tho waysidc. The day alter no
was brought back to the asylum he
made this touching entry IN his diary
Returned homo out Of Essex and found no Mary. u
His later poems generally or melancholy order.
while those he wrote In his youth bthe and bonny
There rs simplicity about all his vose that proves lis
source to have been the heart Here Is one OF the
poems to his first sweetheart entitled, II Love Thee,
Sweet Mary
love thee, sweet Mary, but love thee In fenr;
were but thc morning breeze, hcalthlul and airy,
AS thou gocst a-waiking I'd breathe ia thine car,
And whisper and sigh, how l love thoc, my Mary!
twish but to touch thee, but wish ii in VAN;
Wert thou but streanlet. awindlng go clearly,
And little globu.es OF soft dropping rain,
How iond would press thy white bosom, my Mary
would steal kiss, but dare not presume
Vert thou but u roso IN Thy garden, sweet iairy,
And u bold bcc Tor TO rife It's bloom
A whole summers day would kiss thee, my Mary
long TO be with thee but cannot tell how;
Vert thou but tho elder that grows by thy dairy.
And the b.cst woodbiuc to twinc ON the bough
I'D embrace thec and cling 10 theo ever, my Maryi
Can YOU imagine that written by a limo burner
man utterly without educaton Hero 10 another pocm
called "rne Morning Walk which perfect picture
Of country landscape. and is as fresh tho dew on
the grass
The linnet sat upon its nest.
by gales OF morning softly prest:
His green wing and his grccner breast
were damp with dcws OF morning.
Tho dogrosc near the OAK tree grew,
Blushd swelling meath vel OF dew;
a pinks nest TO It's proxies grew,
hight early IN the morning
The sunshine gittered gold the while
country maiden conb The stilo;
Her straw hat couldn't hide the smile
That biushcd like carly morning
The lark. with feathers all wet through
Looked up above tue CLASSY dew
And 20 tho ncighboring corn fold ncw
flaming tho gales OF morning.
In every bush was heard "a song,
On each grass blade the whole way long
silver sni ming drop there huns,
Tie milky dew OF morning.
Whore stepping stones stride DER tho brook
The rosy maid overlook.
How rudy was her healthy loor-