And cringing follow'd with a fearful pace, Joining the piteous yell with panting breath, While blasting lightnings follow'd fast with death; Then, as Destruction stopt the vain retreat, They dropp'd, and dying lick'd their masters' feet.

When sudden thunders paus'd, loud went the shriek, And groaning agonies, too much to speak, From hurrying mortals, who with ceaseless fears Recall'd the errors of their vanish'd years; Flying in all directions, hope bereft, Followed by dangers that would not be left; Offering wild vows, and begging loud for aid, Where none was nigh to help them when they pray'd.

None stood to listen, or to soothe a friend, But all complained, and sorrow had no end.

Sons from their fathers, fathers sons did fly, The strongest fled, and left the weak to die; Pity was dead: none heeded for another; Brother left brother, and the frantic mother For fruitless safety hurried east and west, And dropp'd the babe to perish from her breast; All howling prayers that would be noticed never, And craving mercy that was fled for ever; While earth, in motion like a troubled sea, Open'd in gulfs of dread immensity Amid the wild confusions of despair, And buried deep the howling and the prayer Of countless mult.i.tudes, and closed--and then Open'd and swallow'd mult.i.tudes again.

Stars, drunk with dread, roll'd giddy from the heaven, And staggering worlds like wrecks in storms were driven; The pallid moon hung fluttering on the sight, As startled bird whose wings are stretch'd for flight; And o'er the East a fearful light begun To show the sun rise-not the morning sun, But one in wild confusion, doom'd to rise And drop again in horror from the skies.

To heaven's midway it reel'd, and changed to blood, Then dropp'd, and light rushed after like a flood, The heaven's blue curtains rent and shrank away, And heaven itself seem'd threaten'd with decay; While hopeless distance, with a boundless stretch, Flash'd on Despair the joy it could not reach, A moment's mockery-ere the last dim light Vanish'd, and left an everlasting Night; And with that light Hope fled and shriek'd farewell, And h.e.l.l in yawning echoes mock'd that yell.

Now Night resumed her uncreated vest, And Chaos came again, but not its rest; The melting glooms that spread perpetual stains, Kept whirling on in endless hurricanes; And tearing noises, like a troubled sea, Broke up that silence which no more would be.

The reeling earth sank loosen'd from its stay, And Nature's wrecks all felt their last decay.

The yielding, burning soil, that fled my feet, I seem'd to feel and struggled to retreat; And 'midst the dread of horror's mad extreme I lost all notion that it was a dream: Sinking I fell through depths that seem'd to be As far from fathom as Eternity; While dismal faces on the darkness came With wings of dragons and with fangs of flame, Writhing in agonies of wild despairs, And giving tidings of a doom like theirs.

I felt all terrors of the d.a.m.n'd, and fell With conscious horror that my doom was h.e.l.l: And Memory mock'd me, like a haunting ghost, With light and life and pleasures that were lost; As dreams turn night to day, and day to night, So Memory flash'd her shadows of that light That once bade morning suns in glory rise, To bless green fields and trees, and purple skies, And waken'd life its pleasures to behold;-- That light flash'd on me like a story told; And days mis-spent with friends and fellow-men, And sins committed,-all were with me then.

The boundless h.e.l.l, whose demons never tire, Glimmer'd beneath me like a world on fire: That soul of fire, like to its souls entomb'd, Consuming on, and ne'er to be consum'd, Seem'd nigh at hand, where oft the sulphury damps O'er-aw'd its light, as glimmer dying lamps, Spreading a horrid gloom from side to side, A twilight scene of terrors half descried.

Sad boil'd the billows of that burning sea, And Fate's sad yellings dismal seem'd to be; Blue roll'd its waves with horrors uncontrolled, And its live wrecks of souls dash'd howlings as they roll'd.

Again I struggled, and the spell was broke, And 'midst the laugh of mocking ghosts I woke; My eyes were open'd on an unhoped sight-- The early morning and its welcome light, And, as I ponder'd o'er the past profound, I heard the c.o.c.k crow, and I blest the sound.

FAILURE OF "THE SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR"

"The Shepherd's Calendar" sold very slowly, for several months after its publication Mr. Taylor wrote to Clare:--

"The season has been a very bad one for new books, and I am afraid the time has pa.s.sed away in which poetry will answer. With that beautiful frontispiece of De Wint's to attract attention, and so much excellent verse inside the volume, the 'Shepherd's Calendar' has had comparatively no sale. It will be a long time, I doubt, before it pays me my expenses, but ours is the common lot. I am almost hopeless of the sale of the books reimbursing me. Of profit I am certain we have not had any, but that I should not care for: it is to be considerably out of pocket that annoys me, and by the new works my loss will probably be heavy."

And again, after the lapse of four or five months:--

"The poems have not yet sold much, but I cannot say how many are disposed of. All the old poetry-buyers seem to be dead, and the new ones have no taste for it."

And now for a time Clare eked out his scanty income by writing poems for the annuals, the silk-bound ill.u.s.trated favourites of fashion, which for ten or twelve years almost sufficed to satisfy the languid appet.i.te of the English public for poetry. Clare was sought after by several editors; among the rest, Allan Cunningham, editor of the "Anniversary;" Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, who severally conducted the "Amulet" and the "Juvenile Forget-me-not." Alaric A. Watts, editor of the "Literary Souvenir;" Thomas Hood, and others. "The Rural Muse,"

the last volume which Clare published, was composed almost entirely of poems which had appeared in the annuals, or other periodicals. The remuneration which Clare received was respectable, if not munificent.

His kind-hearted Scotch friend, Allan Cunningham, was certain to see that he was treated with liberality: Mrs. Hall, on behalf of Messrs.

Ackermann, sent him in October, 1828, three guineas for "The Gra.s.shopper," and in the following month Mr. Hall wrote "Enclosed you will receive L5, for your contributions to the 'Amulet' and the 'Juvenile Forget-Me-Not.' I am however still L2 in your debt, L7 being the sum I have set apart for you. How shall I forward you the remaining L2?" Mr. Alaric Watts frequently importuned Clare for contributions for the "Literary Souvenir" and the "Literary Magnet,"

but he was exceedingly fastidious and plain-spoken, and although he sent Clare presents of books he never said in his letters anything about payment. At length Clare hinted to him that some acknowledgment of that kind would be acceptable, and then Mr. Watts replied, "I have no objection to make you some pecuniary return if you send me any poem worthy of yourself, but really those you have sent me of late are so very inferior, with the exception of a little drinking song, which I shall probably print, that it would do you no service to insert them." This appears to have closed the correspondence.

A sketch of Clare's life would be incomplete which did not notice the subject of his relations with his publishers. His first two works-- "Poems Descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery" and "The Village Minstrel"--were published conjointly by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey and Mr. Drury, of Stamford, on the understanding that Clare was to receive one half of the profits, and that the London and local publishers should divide the remaining half of the profits between them. Before the publication of the third work--the "Shepherd's Calendar"--an arrangement was come to by which Mr. Drury ceased to have any interest in Clare's books, and the London firm renewed the agreement which gave Clare one half of the profits. It was the practice of Taylor and Hessey to remit to Clare money on account, in sums of L10 or L20, and evidently at their own discretion--a discretion which, considering Clare's position and circ.u.mstances, appears to have been wisely and considerately exercised. Added together, these remittances made, for a person in Clare's condition, a considerable sum of money, but the poet fretted and chafed under the want of confidence in his judgement which he thought was implied by this mode of treatment, and he repeatedly applied to Taylor and Hessey for a regular and businesslike statement of account. During the time Mr. Drury had a pecuniary interest in the sale of Clare's books, the London publishers excused themselves from furnishing an account on the ground that it had been complicated by Mr. Drury's claims, but years pa.s.sed away after the latter had been arranged with, and still the rendering of the account was postponed. This irritated Clare, and he frequently spoke and wrote of his publishers with a degree of bitterness which he afterwards regretted. His suspicions, for which there was no real foundation, were at one time encouraged rather than otherwise by influential friends in London, and therefore in February, 1828, he resolved to take another journey to Town, with the two-fold object of having a settlement with his publishers and consulting Dr. Darling respecting a distressing ailment with which he was then afflicted.

"My dear and suffering Clare," wrote Mrs. Emmerson at this time, "your painful letter of to-day is no sooner read by me than I take up my pen, and an extra-sized sheet of paper, to pour out the regrets of my heart for your illness. G.o.d knows I am little able to give thee 'comfort,' for indeed, my Clare, thy friend is a beggar in philosophy, so heavily have the ills of humanity pressed upon her of late; but such 'comfort' as confiding and sympathizing souls can offer do I give in full to thee. Receive it then, my poor Clare, and let the utterings of my pen (which instead of gloomy ink I would dip into the sweet balm of Gilead for thy afflictions) prove again and again thy 'physician.' Forget not what you told me in your former letter: 'your letters come over my melancholy musings like the dews of the morning. I am already better, and you are my physician.' Now, my dear Clare, let me, instead of listening to, or rather acting upon your melancholy forebodings, entreat you to cheer up, and in the course of another week make up a little bundle of clothes, and set yourself quietly inside the Deeping coach for London. I will get your 'sky chamber' ready to receive you, or my niece Eliza shall yield to you her lower apartment, the blue room. We can then, 'in council met,' talk over wills, and new volumes of poems, and all other worldly matters relating to yourself, myself, and posterity."

And again, on the 20th of February:--

"I was yesterday obliged to receive a whole family of foreigners to dinner. I now hasten, my dear Clare, to entreat you will not allow your kind resolves of coming to visit us to take an unfavourable change. I would send down the money for your journey, but am fearful it might be lost. Let me merely say then, that I shall have the pleasure to give it you when we meet. I am sure you will benefit in your health by coming to see us. I have a most worthy friend, a physician, who will do everything, I am sure, to aid you. We shall have a thousand things to chat over when we meet, and it will require a calm head and a quiet heart to effect all we propose. Bring your MSS. With you, and I will do all in my power."

The cordiality of this invitation was irresistible, and Clare, a few days afterwards, presented himself in Stratford Place, where he was entertained during his stay in London, which extended over five weeks.

THE POET TURNED PEDLAR

Shortly after his arrival he called upon Mr. Taylor, who told him that the sale of the "Shepherd's Calendar" had not been large, and that if he chose to sell his books himself in his own neighbourhood he might have a supply at cost price, or half-a-crown per volume.

Clare consulted his intimate friends on this project: Allan Cunningham indignantly inveighed against Mr. Taylor for making a suggestion so derogatory to the dignity of a poet, and Mrs. Emmerson at first took a similar view, but afterwards changed her mind, on seeing Clare himself pretty confident that he could sell a sufficient number of copies not only to clear himself from debt but enable him to rent a small farm. After Clare had accepted the offer she wrote to him as follows:--

"I am sincerely happy to hear from your last communications about Mr.

Taylor that you can now become the merchant of your own gems, so get purchasers for them as fast as possible, and, as Shakspeare says, 'put money in thy purse.' I hope your long account with T. may shortly and satisfactorily be settled. 'Tis well of you to do things gently and with kindly disposition, for indeed I think Mr. Taylor is a worthy man at heart."

The promised statement of account was furnished in August or September 1829, but Clare disputed its accuracy and some of his corrections were accepted. Years elapsed before he could feel quite satisfied that he had been fairly treated, and in the meantime a rupture with his old friend and trustee, Mr. Taylor, was only averted by that gentleman's kindness and forbearance. Clare gave the pedlar project a fair trial, but it brought him little beyond fatigue, mortification, and disappointment. About this time his fifth child was born.

VISIT TO BOSTON

Not long after Clare's return from London, the Mayor of Boston invited him to visit that town. He accepted the invitation and was hospitably entertained. A number of young men of the town proposed a public supper in his honour, and gave him notice that he would have to reply to the toast of his own health. Clare shrank from this terrible ordeal and quitted Boston with scant ceremony. This he regretted on discovering that his warm-hearted friends and admirers had, unknown to him, put ten pounds into his travelling bag. His visit to Boston was followed by an attack of fever which a.s.sailed in turn every member of his family, and rendered necessary the frequent visits of a medical man for several months. For a long time Clare was quite unable to do any work in the fields, or sell any of his poems, and hence arose fresh embarra.s.sments.

In the autumn of 1829 Clare once more made a farming venture on a small scale, and for about eighteen months he was fairly successful.

This raised his spirits to an unwonted pitch, and his health greatly improved; but the gleam of sunshine pa.s.sed away and poverty and sickness were again his portion. In 1831 his household consisted of ten persons, a sixth child having been born to him in the previous year. To support so large a family it was not sufficient that he frequently denied himself the commonest necessaries of life: this for years past he had been accustomed to do, but still he could not "keep the wolf from the door." In his distress he consulted his confidential friends, Artis and Henderson. While talking with Henderson one day at Milton Park, Clare had the good fortune to meet the n.o.ble owner, to whom he told all his troubles. His lordship listened attentively to the story, and when Clare had finished promised that a cottage and a small piece of land should be found for him. The promise was kept, for we find Mr. Emmerson writing on the 9th of November, 1831:--

"Why have you not, with your own good pen, informed me of the circ.u.mstance of your shortly becoming Farmer John? Yes, thanks to the generous Lord Milton, I am told in a letter from your kind friend, the Rev. Mr. Mossop (dated October 27th) that you have the offer of a most comfortable cottage, which will be fitted up for your reception about January the 1st 1832, that it will have an acre of orchard and garden, inclusive of a common for two cows, with a meadow sufficient to produce fodder for the winter."

REMOVAL TO NORTHBOROUGH

The cottage which Lord Milton set apart for Clare was situated at Northborough, a village three miles from Helpstone, and thus described by the author of "Rambles Roundabout":--

"Northborough is a large village, not in the sense of its number of houses or its population, but of the s.p.a.ce of ground which it covers. The houses are mostly cottages, half-hidden in orchards and luxuriant gardens, having a prodigality of ground. There is not an eminence loftier than a molehill throughout, yet the s.p.a.cious roads and the wealth of trees and flowers make it a very picturesque and happy-looking locality. Clare's cottage stands in the midst of ample grounds."

It has been generally supposed that the cottage was provided for Clare rent-free, but that this was not the case is shown by the fact that in one of his letters to Mrs. Emmerson he told her that he had had to sub-let the piece of common for less than he was himself paying for it. The rent was either L13 or L15 a year, but whether the regular payment of that amount was insisted upon is very doubtful. To the astonishment and even annoyance of many of Clare's friends, when he was informed that the cottage was ready for its new tenants, he showed the utmost reluctance to leave Helpstone. Mr. Martin gives the following account of what took place:--

"Patty, radiant with joy to get away from the miserable little hut into a beautiful roomy cottage, a palace in comparison with the old dwelling, had all things ready for moving at the beginning of June, yet could not persuade her husband to give his consent to the final start. Day after day he postponed it, offering no excuse save that he could not bear to part from his old home. Day after day he kept walking through fields and woods among his old haunts, with wild, haggard look, muttering incoherent language. The people of the village began to whisper that he was going mad. At Milton Park they heard of it, and Artis and Henderson hurried to Helpstone to look after their friend. They found him sitting on a moss-grown stone, at the end of the village nearest the heath. Gently they took him by the arm, and, leading him back to the hut, told Mrs. Clare that it would be best to start at once to Northborough, the Earl being dissatisfied that the removal had not taken place. Patty's little caravan was soon ready, and the poet, guided by his friends, followed in the rear, walking mechanically, with eyes half shut, as if in a dream. His look brightened for a moment when entering his new dwelling place, a truly beautiful cottage, with thatched roof, cas.e.m.e.nted windows, wild roses over the porch, and flowery hedges all round. Yet before many hours were over he fell back into deep melancholy, from which he was relieved only by a new burst of song. His feelings found vent in the touching verses beginning 'I've left my own old home of homes.'"

Shortly after removing to Northborough Clare made another ineffectual attempt to induce his trustees to draw out a portion of his fund money. Writing in connection with this subject Mr. Emmerson says:--

"Mrs. Emmerson and myself take a lively interest in your welfare, and we shall be glad to know exactly how you stand in your affairs, what debts you owe, and what stock you require for your present pursuit: by stock, I mean a cow or cows, pigs, &c. Pray give me an early reply to all these particulars, that we may see if anything can be done here to serve you."

Clare replied at once, and in a few days Mrs. Emmerson wrote as follows:--

"We have consulted with Mr. Taylor. Mr. Emmerson went to him yesterday on the receipt of your letter, and informed him of its contents, and it was concluded to set on foot a private friendly subscription to help Farmer John in his concerns. E. L. E. will give L10, which must be laid out in the purchase of a cow, which she begs may be called by the poetic name of Rose or Blossom, or May. Mr.

Taylor will kindly give L5 to purchase two pigs, and I dare say we shall succeed in getting another L5 to buy a b.u.t.ter churn and a few useful tools for husbandry, so that you may all set to work and begin to turn your labour to account, and by instalments pay off the various little debts which have acc.u.mulated in your own neighbourhood. Your garden, and orchard, and dairy will soon release you from these demands, I hope; at any rate you will thus have a beginning, and with the blessing of Providence, and health on your side, and care and industry on the part of your wife and children, I hope my dear Clare will sit down happy ere long in his new abode, rather than have cause to regret leaving his 'own old home of homes.'

It is a very natural and tender lament."

Clare had not lived long at Northborough when he was waited upon by the editor of a London magazine who wormed from him an account of his private affairs, and having dressed up that account in what would now be called a sensational style, published it to the world. The article contained many unjust insinuations against Clare's patrons and publishers, and Mr. Taylor commenced actions, afterwards abandoned, against the magazine in which it originally appeared, the "Alfred,"

and also against a Stamford paper, into which the article was copied.

Clare indignantly protested against the use to which his conversation with his meddlesome visitor had been put, but it is impossible entirely to acquit him of blame. Mr. Taylor remonstrated with him upon his indiscretion, but with a consideration for his inexperience which it is very pleasant to notice, refrained from a severity of rebuke to which Clare had no doubt exposed himself. "I have been much hurt," he says, "at finding that my endeavours to do you service have ended no better than they have, but if you supposed that I had been benefited by it, or that I had withheld from you anything you were ent.i.tled to--any profit whatever on any of your works--you have been grievously mistaken." Mr. Taylor was constant to the end, for after this he promoted Clare's interests by every means in his power, conferring with Dr. Darling on his behalf, discharging in conjunction with Mrs. Emmerson a heavy account sent in by a local medical man, advising him in all his troubles, offering him a home whenever he chose to come to London to see Dr. Darling, editing his last volume of poems, although it was brought out by a house with which he had no connection, and, finally, contributing to his maintenance when it became necessary to send him to a private asylum. Among the indications which Clare gave of the approaching loss of reason were frequent complaints that he was haunted by evil spirits, and that he and his family were bewitched. Writing on this subject in February, 1833, Mr. Taylor said:--