Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LIFE OF HUBERT: MEMORIES OF A DORSET BOYHOOD IN THE 1730S, by THOMAS COLE (1727-1796)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LIFE OF HUBERT: MEMORIES OF A DORSET BOYHOOD IN THE 1730S, by                    
First Line: The blue expanse of a hyacinthine bloom
Last Line: Their num'rous, ceaseless, varied cawings blend.
Subject(s): Children; Dorset, England; Memory; Childhood


(i)

THE blue expanse of hyacinthine bloom,
Midst whose sweet pendant bells, on crowding stalks,
The wild anemone can scarce find room
To rear in white array its mingled flow'rs,
Attracts our gaze. More still are we amused
To see the frequent nimble rabbit scud
Across our path; and mark the mingled signs
Of caution and of courage in the hare,
Who, popping from the thicket just before us,
Halts as we halt;—and stroking first her face
With dewy paws, upraised on hinder legs
Awhile she stands, one list'ning ear erect,
As singly best to catch the slightest sound.
Then dropping prone, she stamps, with doubtful heels,
Repeatedly and loud against the ground:
And as of perfect safety hence assured,
Calmly begins to crop the way-side grass.
But the least crackling from dry brittle sprigs,
That lightly strew the ground where'er we tread,
Her nibbling checks, and scares her quick from sight.
We linger still to list the various sounds,
Which, wakened by the love-inspiring warmth
Of ether's genial breath, diffusive spread
Through ev'ry quarter of the breeding woods.
And, hark! we hear the slow-repeated note
Of cuckoo, never failing to recall
Delightful thoughts, since first, on May-day eve,
Wafted by vernal breeze, it caught our ear;
And made us loiter long at ev'ry stile
That crossed our meadow pathway; whilst around,
In freshest bloom and youthful verdure clad,
All nature smiled. And now, from diff'rent points,
Ring out at once, of loud magpie and jay
The chatt'ring courtship, and more clam'rous love
Of woodpecker, that knocks with hamm'ring bill
The timber tree; detecting, by the sound,
Where latent grubs their caverned passage eat.
In search of these on sharp tenacious claws,
Suspended sure as fly that rambles light
O'er casement pane, he nimbly roves around
The smooth-barked glossy trunk of spreading beech.
Nor heedless do we hear the crowing voice
Of mated pheasant; the protracted moan,
From ivy-mantled lodge with berries fraught,
Of wild wood-pigeon, faithful as the tame;
And tender cooings of the turtle dove,
Emblem of all that's sacred, pure and true.

(ii)

The time allowed for sleep at length elapsed,
We, quite refreshed, awake at usual hour,
Greeted with usual sounds. The swallow's wing
In chimney tunnel flutt'ring up and down,
And frequent twitt'rings sweet, as bit by bit
She plasters busily, with trowel bill,
The rough-cast layers of her mud-wall cell.
The close-grouped pigeons on the sunny tiles,
Scrambling in languid luxury to bask,
Or roving to and fro on flapping plumes,
In restless ardour to complete their loves;
Whilst, aided by our fancy's eye, we see
Each strutting Tom, with noddling head erect,
Inflated crop, and glossy neck that darts,
At ev'ry turn, a change of rainbow dyes,
Oft as we hear him cooing to his mate.
The early mower of the dewy lawn,
With sandy stone of grating texture rough,
Whetting his scythe in shrill alternate twangs.
The lulling stroke, at true-timed intervals,
Of thresher's flail, now sounding dead on straw,
And now sharp echoed from elastic floor
Of planchèd barn: a tell-tale task, most sure,
If long remitted, to his master's ear
The idle day-work lab'rer to betray.
The rumbling roll of heavy waggon-wheels
O'er the rough pitching of the flinty yard;
With jingling bells from the head-tossing team,
And frequent crack resounding from the lash
Of carter's whip. Just risen from her nest,
The joyous cackling hen, from burden free
Of fresh-delivered egg. The bellowing cow
For calf pent up; bemoaning, in return,
Her cruel lot, at once of freedom robbed
And nat'ral bev'rage of a mother's milk.
The jostling herd of greedy grunting sows
And eager squeaking pigs, when dairy-maid,
Her cheese-curd pressed, from loaded bucket pours
A copious tide of whey into their trough;
To their impure, voracious appetites
Most sav'ry still, though snouts with mud begrimed
And dung-clad feet plunge in at once to taint,
With compound filth, the sweetness of their mess.
The turkey-cock's loud hoggle-goggling throat,
When midst his mates he rears his fan-tail plumes,
Drops low his archèd wings in stately sweep,
To flirt their pinion quills against the ground.
The hissings fierce, the hoarse defying screams
Of gander, trusting in his potent wing,
When hogs, or dogs, or men approach too near
His fav'rite goose, and yellow gosling train:
And then the earnest gabbling, twattling bills
Of old and young close met, with out-stretched necks,
To greet each other on their safe escape.
At greater distance, though not far remote,
The softened ceaseless lapse of rough cascade
O'er the shut sluices of the deep canal,
Well stored with carp and tench: while near its banks,
From nests close-clust'ring on the topmost boughs
Of ancient grove, or scattered wide on wing,
The long-established colony of rooks
Their num'rous, ceaseless, varied cawings blend.





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