Life and Remains of John Clare Part 32

Though you may break your fondest vow, And take your heart from me, And though my heart should break to hear What I may never see, Yet never can'st thou break the link That binds my love to thee.

So fare-thee-well, my own true love; No vow from thee I crave, But thee I never will forego, Till no spark of life I have, Nor will I ever thee forget Till we both lie in the grave.

MARY NEELE

[Notwithstanding the company in which it is found, this poem may safely be attributed to Clare.]

My love is tall and handsome; All hearts she might command; She's matchless for her beauty, The queen of all the land.

She has my heart in keeping, For which there's no repeal, For the fairest of all woman kind Is my love, Mary Neele.

I felt my soul enchanted To view this turtle dove, That lately seems descended From heavenly bowers of love; And might I have the fortune My wishes could reveal, I'd turn my back on splendour And fly to Mary Neele.

She is the flower of nations, The diamond of my eye; All others are but gloworms That in her splendour die.

As shining stars all vanish When suns their light reveal, So beauties shrink to shadows At the feet of Mary Neele.

I ask no better fortune Than to embrace her charms; Like Plato I would laugh at wealth While she was in my arms; And if I cannot gain her From grief there's no appeal; My joy, my pain, my life, my all Are fixed with Mary Neele.

The stone of vain philosophers, That wonder-working toy, The golden fleece of Jason, That Helen stole from Troy, The beauty and the riches That all these fames unseal, Are nothing all, and less than that, Compared to Mary Neele.

O if I cannot gain her Right wretched must I be, And caves and lonely mountains Must be the life for me, To pine in gloom and sorrow, And hide the deaths I feel, For light nor life I may not share When lost to Mary Neele.

LOVE SCORNED BY PRIDE

O far is fled the winter wind, And far is fled the frost and snow, But the cold scorn on my love's brow Hath never yet prepared to go.

More lasting than ten winters' wind, More cutting than ten weeks of frost, Is the chill frowning of thy mind, Where my poor heart was pledged and lost.

I see thee taunting down the street, And by the frowning that I see I might have known it long ere now, Thy love was never meant for me.

And had I known ere I began That love had been so hard to win, I would have filled my heart with pride, Nor left one hope to let love in.

I would have wrapped it in my breast, And pinned it with a silver pin, Safe as a bird within its nest, And 'scaped the trouble I am in.

I wish I was a happy bird, And thou a true and timid dove: O I would fly the land of grief, And rest me in the land of love.

O I would rest where I love best; Where I love best I may not be: A hawk doth on that rose-tree sit, And drives young love to fear and flee.

O would I were the goldfinch gay!

My richer suit had tempted strong.

O would I were the nightingale!

Thou then had'st listened to my song.

Though deep my scorn I cannot hate, Thy beauty's sweet though sour thy pride; To praise thee is to love thee still, And it doth cheer my heart beside.

For I could swim the deepest lake, And I could climb the highest tree, The greatest danger face and brave, And all for one kind kiss of thee.

O love is here, and love is there: O love is like no other thing: Its frowns can make a king a slave, Its smiles can make a slave a king.

BETRAYED

Dream not of love, to think it like What waking love may prove to be, For I dreamed so and broke my heart, When my false lover slighted me.

Love, like to flowers, is sweet when green; The rose in bud aye best appears; And she that loves a handsome man Should have more wit than she has years.

I put my finger in a bush, Thinking the sweeter rose to find; I p.r.i.c.ked my finger to the bone, And left the sweetest rose behind.

I threw a stone into the sea, And deep it sunk into the sand, And so did my poor heart in me When my false lover left the land.

I watched the sun an hour too soon Set into clouds behind the town; So my false lover left, and said "Good night" before the day was down.

I cropt a lily from the stalk, And in my hand it died away; So did my joy, so will my heart, In false love's cruel grasp decay.

THE MAIDEN'S WELCOME

Of all the swains that meet at eve Upon the green to play, The shepherd is the lad for me, And I'll ne'er say him nay.

Though father glowers beneath his hat, And mother talks of bed, I'll take my cloak up, late or soon, To meet my shepherd lad.

Aunt Kitty loved a soldier lad, Who left her love for war; A sailor loved my sister Sue, Whose jacket smelt of tar; But my love's sweet as land new ploughed; He is my heart's delight, And he ne'er leaves his love so far But he can come at night.

So father he may glower and frown, And mother scold about it; The shepherd has my heart to keep, And can I live without it?

I'm sure he will not part with it, In spite of what they say, And if he would as sure I am It would not come away.

So friends may frown, while I can smile To know I'm loved by one Who has my heart, and him to seek What better can be done?

And be it Spring or Summer both, Or be it Winter cold, If pots should freeze upon the fire I'd meet him at the fold.

I'm fain to make my wedding gown, Which he has bought for me, But it will wake my mother's thoughts, And evil they will be, Although he has but stole my heart, Which gives me nought of pain, For bye and bye he'll buy the ring, And bring my heart again.

THE FALSE KNIGHT'S TRAGEDY

[Students of ballad literature will be reminded by the following poem of the "May Colleen" and "The Outlandish Knight" of other collections. The resemblance between the three ballads is general up to a certain point, but a striking contrast occurs in the denouement, for whereas in other versions the maiden contrives by a simple stratagem to fling her false lover into the sea, where she leaves him to his fate, in the following she falls a victim to his treachery.

His fitting end is, however, indicated in the remarkable stanza with which the ballad closes.]

A false knight wooed a maiden poor, And his high halls left he To stoop in at her cottage door, When night left none to see.