The Idler's Epistle to John Clare by Charles Elton

The Idler’s Epistle to John Clare

(excerpt)

So loth, friend John, to quit the town?

Twas 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 paven flat of endless street

Is all unsuited to thy feet;

The fog-wet smoke is all unmet

         For such as thou;

Who thought’st the meadown verdure sweet

         But think’st not now.

‘Time’s hoarse unfether’d nightingales’ (*)

Inspire not like the birds of vales;

I know their haunt in river dales

         On many a tree,

And they reserve their sweetest tales

         John Clare  for thee.

Tis true thou paintest to the eye

The straw-thatch’d roof with elm-tree nigh;

But thou has wisdom to descry

         What lurks below;

The springing tear, the melting sigh,

         The cheek’s heart-glow

Some grievously suspect thee, Clare!

They want to know they form of prayer;

Thou dost not cant, and so they stare

         And smell free-thinking;

They bid thee of the devil beware,

         And vote thee sinking.

With smile sedate and patient eye

Thou mark’st the creedmen pass 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.

Charles Abraham Elton

August 1824

(*) A line from Samuel Taylor Coleridge