The Mores
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ar spread the moorey ground a level sceneBespread with rush and one eternal greenThat never felt the rage of blundering ploughThough centurys wreathed spring's blossoms on its browStill meeting plains that stretched them far awayIn uncheckt shadows of green brown, and greyUnbounded freedom ruled the wandering sceneNor fence of ownership crept in betweenTo hide the prospect of the following eyeIts only bondage was the circling skyOne mighty flat undwarfed by bush and treeSpread its faint shadow of immensityAnd lost itself, which seemed to eke its boundsIn the blue mist the horizon's edge surroundsNow this sweet vision of my boyish hoursFree as spring clouds and wild as summer flowersIs faded all - a hope that blossomed free,And hath been once, no more shall ever beInclosure came and trampled on the graveOf labour's rights and left the poor a slaveAnd memory's pride ere want to wealth did bowIs both the shadow and the substance nowThe sheep and cows were free to range as thenWhere change might prompt nor felt the bonds of menCows went and came, with evening morn and night,To the wild pasture as their common rightAnd sheep, unfolded with the rising sunHeard the swains shout and felt their freedom wonTracked the red fallow field and heath and plainThen met the brook and drank and roamed againThe brook that dribbled on as clear as glassBeneath the roots they hid among the grassWhile the glad shepherd traced their tracks alongFree as the lark and happy as her songBut now all's fled and flats of many a dyeThat seemed to lengthen with the following eyeMoors, loosing from the sight, far, smooth, and bleaWhere swopt the plover in its pleasure freeAre vanished now with commons wild and gayAs poet's visions of life's early dayMulberry-bushes where the boy would runTo fill his hands with fruit are grubbed and doneAnd hedgrow-briars - flower-lovers overjoyedCame and got flower-pots - these are all destroyedAnd sky-bound mores in mangled garbs are leftLike mighty giants of their limbs bereftFence now meets fence in owners' little boundsOf field and meadow large as garden groundsIn little parcels little minds to pleaseWith men and flocks imprisoned ill at easeEach little path that led its pleasant wayAs sweet as morning leading night astrayWhere little flowers bloomed round a varied hostThat travel felt delighted to be lostNor grudged the steps that he had ta-en as vainWhen right roads traced his journeys and again -Nay, on a broken tree he'd sit awhileTo see the mores and fields and meadows smileSometimes with cowslaps smothered - then all whiteWith daiseys - then the summer's splendid sightOf cornfields crimson o'er the headache bloomdLike splendid armys for the battle plumedHe gazed upon them with wild fancy's eyeAs fallen landscapes from an evening skyThese paths are stopt - the rude philistine's thrallIs laid upon them and destroyed them allEach little tyrant with his little signShows where man claims earth glows no more divineBut paths to freedom and to childhood dearA board sticks up to notice 'no road here'And on the tree with ivy overhungThe hated sign by vulgar taste is hungAs tho' the very birds should learn to knowWhen they go there they must no further goThus, with the poor, scared freedom bade goodbyeAnd much they feel it in the smothered sighAnd birds and trees and flowers without a nameAll sighed when lawless law's enclosure cameAnd dreams of plunder in such rebel schemesHave found too truly that they were but dreams.
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