Life and Remains of John Clare Part 33

And, well-a-day, it is a tale For pity too severe-- A tale would melt the sternest eye, And wake the deafest ear.

He stole her heart, he stole her love, 'T was all the wealth she had; Her truth and fame likewise stole he,

And they rode on, and they rode on; Far on this pair did ride, Till the maiden's heart with fear and love Beat quick against her side.

And on they rode till rocks grew high.

"Sir Knight, what have we here?"

"Unsaddle, maid, for here we stop:"

And death's tongue smote her ear.

Some ruffian rude she took him now, And wished she'd barred the door, Nor was it one that she could read Of having heard before.

"Thou art not my true love," she said, "But some rude robber loon; He'd take me from the saddle bow, Nor leave me to get down."

"I ne'er was your true love," said he, "For I'm more bold than true; Though I'm the knight that came at dark To kiss and toy with you."

"I know you're not my love," said she, "That came at night and wooed; Although ye try and mock his speech His way was ne'er so rude.

He ne'er said word but called me dear, And dear he is to me: Ye spake as ye ne'er knew the word, Rude ruffian as ye be.

Ye never was my knight, I trow, Ye pay me no regard, But he would take my arm in his If we but went a yard."

"No matter whose true love I am; I'm more than true to you, For I'll ne'er wed a shepherd wench,-- Although I came to woo."

And on to the rock's top they walked, Till they stood o'er the salt sea's brim.

"And there," said he, "'s your bridal bed, Where you may sink or swim."

A moonbeam shone upon his face, The maid sunk at his feet, For 't was her own false love she saw, That once so fond did greet.

"And did ye promise love for this?

Is the grave my priest to be?

And did ye bring this silken dress To wed me with the sea?"

"O never mind your dress," quoth he, 'T is well to dress for sea: Mermaids will love to see you fine; Your bridesmaids they will be."

"O let me cast this gown away, It's brought no good to me, And if my mother greets my clay Too wretched will she be.

For she, for my sad sake, would keep This guilty bridal dress, To break and tell her bursting heart She had a daughter less."

So off she threw her bridal gown, Likewise her gold clasped shoon: His looks frowned hard as any stone, Hers pale turned as the moon.

"O false, false knight you've wrapped me warm Ere I was cold before, And now you strip me unto death, Although I'm out of door.

O dash away those thistles rude, That crowd about the sh.o.r.e; They'll wound my tender feet, that ne'er Went barefoot thus before.

O dash those stinging nettles down, And cut away the brier, For deep they wound those lily arms Which you did once admire."

And he nor briers nor thistles cut, Although she grieved full sore, And he nor shed one single tear, Nor kiss took evermore.

She shrieked--and sank, and is at rest, All in the deep, deep sea; And home in base and scornful pride, With haunted heart, rode he.

Now o'er that rock there hangs a tree, And chains do creak thereon; And in those chains his memory hangs, Though all beside is gone.

LOVE'S RIDDLE

"Unriddle this riddle, my own Jenny love, Unriddle this riddle for me, And if ye unriddle the riddle aright, A kiss your prize shall be, And if ye riddle the riddle all wrong, Ye're treble the debt to me:

I'll give thee an apple without any core; I'll give thee a cherry where stones never be; I'll give thee a palace, without any door, And thou shalt unlock it without any key; I'll give thee a fortune that kings cannot give, Nor any one take from thee."

"How can there be apples without any core?

How can there be cherries where stones never be?

How can there be houses without any door?

Or doors I may open without any key?

How can'st thou give fortunes that kings cannot give, When thou art no richer than me?"

"My head is the apple without any core; In cherries in blossom no stones ever be; My mind is love's palace without any door, Which thou can'st unlock, love, without any key.

My heart is the wealth, love, that kings cannot give, Nor any one take it from thee.

So there are love's riddles, my own Jenny love, Ye cannot unriddle to me, And for the one kiss you've so easily lost I'll make ye give seven to me.

To kiss thee is sweet, but 't is sweeter by far To be kissed, my dear Jenny, by thee.

Come pay me the forfeit, my own Jenny love; Thy kisses and cheeks are akin, And for thy three sweet ones I'll give thee a score On thy cheeks, and thy lips, and thy chin."

She laughed while he gave her, as much as to say, "'T were better to lose than to win."

THE BANKS OF IVORY

'T was on the banks of Ivory, 'neath the hawthorn-scented shade, Early one summer's morning, I met a lovely maid; Her hair hung o'er her shoulders broad, her eyes like suns did s.h.i.+ne, And on the banks of Ivory, O I wished the maid was mine.

Her face it wore the beauty of heaven's own broken mould; The world's first charm seemed living still; her curls like hanks of gold Hung waving, and her eyes glittered timid as the dew, When by the banks of Ivory I swore I loved her true.

"Kind sir," she said, "forsake me, while it is no pain to go, For often after kissing and such wooing there comes woe; And woman's heart is feeble; O I wish it were a stone; So by the banks of Ivory I'd rather walk alone.

For learned seems your gallant speech, and n.o.ble is your trim, And thus to court an humble maid is just to please your whim; So go and seek some lady fair, as high in pedigree, Nor stoop so low by Ivory to flatter one like me."

"In sooth, fair maid, you mock at me, for truth ne'er harboured ill; I will not wrong your purity; to love is all my will: My hall looks over yonder groves; its lady you shall be, For on the banks of Ivory I'm glad I met with thee."

He put his hands unto his lips, and whistled loud and shrill, And thirty six well-armed men came at their master's will, Said he "I've flattered maids full long, but now the time is past, And the bonny hills of Ivory a lady own at last.

My steed's back ne'er was graced for a lady's seat before; Fear not his speed; I'll guard thee, love, till we ride o'er the moor, To seek the priest, and wed, and love until the day we die."

So she that was but poor before is Lady Ivory.