Pendle Hill Verses and Sketches

K' i9 'o \ 9 ( 0 C O N TEN TS . GI P O G SY S N . HILLTOP GRASS CLITHEROE THE GARDEN I S F'LL OF DAFFODILS A GOLDEN STAR SHOT DOWN THE SKY P EN DLE ‘ AT DAWN NOT ONLY I N THE EASTWARD E'ENING STAR WILD LIFE THE SUMMERHOUSE B'S NO'EMBER PENDLE POOLS TH E MOOR P R E-HISTORY COME O 'T AN D TAKE WRITING THE STREAM THAT FLOWS BY MEAR LEY PENDLE TOURISTS THE MANY 'OYS OF PENDLE HILL E'ENING PENDLE TOPS PENDLE HILL PENDLE PALACE ME AR L EY CLOU GH ME AR LEY STREAM ME AR L‘E Y STREAM AGAIN SANDALS MOONRISE MARCH FROST CLITHEROE CASTLE GLASSWATER LANDSCAPE ( ARO'ND CLITHEROE ' MORNING PENDLETON BY MOO NLIGHT TH E A BY D AY S ME , CONTRASTS SAWLEY MEETIN G HOUSE CH ATBURN u BARLEY . WORSTON ROAD O 'R MOUSE A SUMMER MORNING WORSTON PENDLE POOL O GDEN B Y MOONLIGHT SABDEN FOLD AN D OGDEN CLOUGH DOWNHAM MERELY MEAR LE Y COLOURS GIPSY S ONG This baby sleeps in my arms O ut O n the open moor ; S afe from all fears and alarms O en Here on the p moor . St eady and strong and sure ’ Is a mother s step on the moor ; Asleep or when waking This baby is taking O Life from the pen moor . H e opens his baby eyes At the wide e' panse of the moor ; I n glad and delighted surprise At the heather and grass of the moor ; H e loves to be dipped in the pure - And life giving streams of the moor. His daddy is making A cradle for taking His baby across the moor . HILLT OP GRASS These tiresome tufts are tawny In the clear morning light ; By day they are less thorny Than when you climbed at night ; But oh the quiet splendour O f moonlight on the hill ' The thought of it will lend a R omance to memory still . SE'EN CLI THEROE l r R Pendle Hil , the iver ibble , s Field of celandines and daisies , L ambs that frolic , sheep that nibble , Birds that seem to sin g the praises sun Of the , the glowing river , Hill and dale and wood and moorland , Green fields and the life they live there , Lancashire , how lovely your land ' u The garden is f ll of daffodils , But it seems cramped compared with the rills w i l I have watched , flo ing out of the h l s ; Its cra'y paths are pretty, but they Cannot compare with the stones far away, i ul The ledges of beaut f smooth brown stone , In the hidden stream that flows down alone In the heart of Pendle Hill ; The atmosphere here is still ; But it isn ’t the same as the welcoming air Of the cool fresh wind up on Pendle there , O When y uclimb to the top of the hill . ’ Then why do I linger here still ? Why not rise And ' iew the skies E ve r changing like the hill ? A golden star shot down the sky As I came down the track ; Not one of that fair gala' y ' ’ Above old P endle s back ; N o , but a meteor swift and sure , F allin g upon the earth , Emblem ’ r of God s love , deep and pu e , m Co ing to bless our mirth . EIGHT PENDLE AT DAWN The mornin g sky is golden Along the Pendle ridge ; Even so the people olden Beheld each gleaming bridge The link between this ring of fells And Kem le L . p and ongridge . D eep down in this green hollow Four sheep stand in the morn ; i The grey l mestone above them , The rosy glow of dawn . Far o fi across the valley I see a farmhouse light ; ' s at u t the foot of Pendle , S o short is their brief night ; And now the milk- girls sally Forth townwards , fresh and bright . Not only in the eastward i r The morn ng sky is b ight , The glow is mostly westward , The northward first showed light The south alone lies hidden Within the mist of night , But it will have most sunshine Throughout the long daylight . Evening star that leads me still l 'p the side of yon steep hil , Through the pinewood mping down Where the bracken crackles brown , And the far- flung counterpane Of green patchwork fields and grain ' Gives a sense of space and light As one gazes from the hill ; n l While the moon is risi g , stil , Pure , benign and bright , Leading in the night . ‘ WILD L IFE R abbits scurry over Pendle , Curlews wheel and call ; Sheep and lambs lie in warm places Where the reeds grow tall ; L r ittle birds are whistling, c ying , Circling through the air ; Winds are chasing , clouds are flying , M ovement everywhere . THE SUMMERHOUSE B'S O h were this bus on Pendle How handy it would be , To shelter from the weather Together there with thee . Whatever wind was blowing ’ We d swivel the bus around, i And even were it snow ng , Some pleasure could be found In lurking there within it , And gazing at th e view , Or keeping the things in it All spick and span and new ; In taking tea inside there Or out beneath the sky, Hearing only sheep call Or the lone curlew cry . NO'E MBER The trees make patterns on the lane , The Ribble murmurs a refrain ; Pendle Hill looms grey and green , Moonlight sheds a silver sheen , Brilliant moonlight to remember , Night of beauty , in November . PENDLE PO OLS These aching feet ul Wo d heal in peat , In mossy pools Whose water cools S o soft and sweet ; R eed- fringed and still On yonder hill Waiting they lie Beneath the sky For footsore wanderers Hill- climbing ponderers And all who cry ‘ Fo r peace and quiet on the hill , For leisure to watch each sweet rill Leap tumbling down with curling foam Down from its far- o ff mountain home To the deep quiet clough . What though the grass be rough , Though. sedge and reed crowd round its The ground beneath be wet and dank , Y N ’ et this is ature s floor , ’ This hill is heaven s door , Here we can thank And worship God whose lovin g ways Fill all our days and nights with praise . THE M O OR Let the wind chisel your face ’ With a refiner s grace ; Let the wild curlew ’ s cry L f i t up your heart on high , Let the sweet mournful note From some wild robin ’s throat Whisper of sweetness , fl eetness Nimbleness , , Out on the hillside there Where the wild winds lay bare The bleaching bones of old gnarled roots n u Of gorse and heather , mou tain fr its , D aisies , and masses Of coarse rough grasses , ’ Green grass the sheep s teeth tear . Let th e wind call you there Out on the hillside bare . TWEL'E PRE -HIST ORY L h ord , t ou hast shown us on the hill , How our o wn lives are linked up still With all the people s of the past ; N ot only those who lived here last , But with that prehistoric race Who walked the hill with lively pace That surely filled their forms with grace And added beauty to their face In days of flint and stone . They loved the moon even more than we , n They had the su and stars to see , - Their skies were always smoke cloud free , They had the winds for company At home or when alone ; S urely they loved the open air, Loved to awaken on the fair Golden and green hillside . Sure e ach man loved his bride e In liv ly, gay , and playful ways , Surely their lives were filled with praise Of thee on every side . Fashioned in thine o wn image then No less than any modern men They had their j oy and pride . Come out and take your leisure still On this grey old Pendle Hill . Se e the sheep lie snug and warm Shelterin g from the passing storm . Hear the chattering curlews call When you rous e them near the wall . Study shapes of stones and rocks , See t he clouds come up in flocks Over the long dark hill . Drink from some clear mountain rill ; See the mauve tufts of the grasses Waving in e ach wind that passes . Lazily watch every bee As it travels dizzily . Wander freely where you will On this grassy old hill . THIRTEEN WRITING s Write about the stream far away , w The little pools where the minno s play , The crisp and rosy daisies there Peering into the bright blue air ; Smooth grey stones where fish lie hidden ' Ponies wanderers have ridden , Leapin g upon their backs bare . Write of the sun that circles round , ’ all Or we round it of you ve found , ’ From his darting sunbeams rays . r ’ How to ise and sing God s praise , Of sheep and lambs that slowly pass Among the long and flowery grass And all the hillside ways . Of village life with sights like these l Cows wa king h omewards at their ease , Children racing round at play R ej oicing in the open day ; Chimneys black against the trees , S moke uprising in the breeze , The streamlet on its way . THE S TREAM THA T FLOW S BY MEAR LEY The stream that flows by Me arley Is fair as Angram stream ; One learns to love them dearly And seek their vagrant gleam ; ' From fo glove time to frostbite , ' From snow to radiant une , By black midnight or starlight , Come hear their merry tune .

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