WHAT IS LIFE?
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nd what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,A mist retreating from the morning sun,A busy, bustling, still repeated dream;Its length?--A minute's pause, a moment's thought;And happiness?--a bubble on the stream,That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought. What are vain hopes?--The puffing gale of morn,That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,And robs each flow'ret of its gem,--and dies;A cobweb hiding disappointment's thorn,Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise. And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?That dark, mysterious name of horrid sound?--A long and lingering sleep, the weary crave.And Peace? where can its happiness abound?No where at all, save heaven, and the grave.Then what is Life?--When stripp'd of its disguise,A thing to be desir'd it cannot be,Since everything that meets our foolish eyesGives proof sufficient of its vanity.'T is but a trial all must undergo,To teach unthankful mortals how to prizeThat happiness vain man's denied to knowUntil he's called to claim it in the skies. The following lines in the "Address to Plenty" have always beenadmired for their Doric strength and simplicity, and the vividrealism of the scene which they depict:-- Toiling in the naked fields,Where no bush a shelter yields,Needy Labour dithering stands,Beats and blows his numbing hands,And upon the crumping snowsStamps, in vain, to warm his toes.Leaves are fled, that once had powerTo resist a summer shower;And the wind so piercing blows,Winnowing small the drifting snows; Clare used at first, without hesitation, the provincialisms of hisnative county, but afterwards, as his mind matured, he saw thepropriety of adopting the suggestions which Charles Lamb and otherfriends made to him on this subject, and his style gradually becamemore polished, until in the "Rural Muse" scarcely any provincialismswere employed, and the glossary of the earlier volumes was thereforeunnecessary. The article in the "Quarterly" was, with the exception, perhaps, ofthe concluding paragraph just quoted, from the pen of Clare's friendand neighbour, Mr. Gilchrist, who wrote to Clare on the subject inthe following jocular strain:-- "What's to be done now, Maester? Here's a letter from William Giffordsaying I promised him an article on one John Clare, for the'Quarterly Review.' Did I do any such thing? Moreover, he says he haspromised Lord Radstock, and if I know him, as he thinks I do, I knowthat the Lord will persecute him to the end. This does not move memuch. But he adds, 'Do not fail me, dear Gil, for I count upon you.Tell your simple tale, and it may do the young bard good.' Think youso? Then it must be set about. But how to weave the old web anew--howto hoist the same rope again and again--how to continue the interestto a twice-told tale? Have you committed any arsons or murders thatyou have not yet revealed to me? If you have, out with 'em straight,that I may turn 'em to account before you are hanged; and as you willnot come here to confess, I must hunt you up at Helpstone; so look toit, John Clare, for ere it be long, and before you expect me, I shallbe about your eggs and bacon. I have had my critical cap on these twodays, and the cat-o'-nine-tails in my hands, and soundly I'll flogyou for your sundry sins, John Clare, John Clare! Given under my hand the tenth of the fourth month, anno Domini 1820."
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