The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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![]() | II. |
![]() | The early poems of John Clare | ![]() |
DAMON AND COLLIN
DamonWhen I meet Phillis in my morning walk
She first salutes the morn and stays to talk
The biggest secret she will not refuse
But freely tells me all the village news
And pleas'd am I can I but haply force
Some new made tale to lengthen the discourse
For—O so pleasing is her company
That hours like minutes in her prescense fly
I'm happy then nor can her abscence ere
Raise in my heart the least distrust to fear
Collin
When Chloe meets me I find naught to say
She hangs her head I turn another way
Sometimes (but never till the maid's gone bye)
‘Good morning’ faulters weaken'd by a sigh
Confounded I remain but yet delight
To look back on her while she's out of sight
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I jeer my weakness and I do repent
To think how well I might have then confest
That secret love which makes me so distrest
But when the maidens vanish'd for awhile
Recruited hopes my future hours beguile
I fuss my self ‘Another time I'll tell’
Which (if not better) will be quite as well
Thus days and weeks and months I've dallied oer
And now no nearer then I was before
Damon
Such ways as these I ever strove to shun
Nor was I bashful when I first begun
Freely I offerd posies to the maid
Which she as freely with her smiles repaid
Yet had I been like you affraid to own
My love.—her kindness had been still unknown
And now the maidens kindness to requite
I strive to please her morning noon and night
The garland and the wreath for her I bind
Compos'd of all the fairest I can find
For her I stop the straggler going astray
And watch her sheep when she's not in the way
I fetch them up at night and shift the pen
And in the morning let them out agen
For her in hearvest when the nuts are brown
I take my crook to pull the branches down
And up the trees that dismally hang oer
The deep black pond (where none durst go before)
I heedles climb as free from fear as now
And snatch the clusters from the top-most bough
Well pleas'd to risk such dangers that can prove
How much her damon does his Phillis love
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I search the meadows and as well as you
I bind up posies and sweet garlands too
And if I unawares can hear exprest
What flower she fancies finer than the rest
Grow where it will I search the fields about
And search for't daily till I find it out
And when I've found 'em,—O'—what tongue can tell
The fear and doubts with which my breast does swell
The schemes contriving and the plans I lay
How I to her the garland must convey
And various indeed.—sometimes I start
Resolv'd to tell the secrets of my heart
Vowing to make the gather'd garland prove
How much I languish and how much I love
But soon resolves and vows alay their heat
And timid weakness reasumes her seat
The garland then as I so painful sought
Instantley seems as if twas good for naught
‘Ah gaudy thing’ I sigh ‘will Chloe wear
‘Such foolish lumber in her Auburn hair?’
Thus doubts and fears each other do confound
And thus perplex'd I throw it on the ground
Walk from't—distrest—in pensive silence mourn
Then plan a scheme! and back again return
Once more the garland in my hands I take
And of the best a smaller posie make
Resting assur'd that such a nosegay will
To gain her favour prove a better still
So off I go with posie in my coat
Knowing the plains where chloe does resort
And then my hopeful heart from grief's reviv'd
By this new plan so seeming well contriv'd
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Sneaking along—my heart misgives me too
Then as I nearer draw, ‘well now’ thinks I
‘I'll not speak to her, but pass silent bye’
While from my coat that precious gift I rend
Which I for her before-hand did intend
And after all my various scheeming so
The flowers as worthless to the ground I throw
And if by getting through the hedge bound plain
Having no sense to find the same again
Her little lambkins raise a petious cry
Calling for help—if I'm far off or nigh
It matters not can I but hear their moan
(Of hers more tenderer than I am my own)
The journeys nought at all no steps I grudge
But with great pleasure to its aid I trudge
Yet this is never to the maiden known
Nor never done save onley when alone
For fearing that by it the swains will prove
(Or she herself) the favour to be love
As I behind her back so loving where
So when she's there as careles I appear
Nor can I have the face (altho my mind
At the same times most willingly inclind)
To do for her the least as ever where
Nor join the tale where she does interfere
If from her looks a smile I do obtain
I feel oer joy'd but never smile again
And when I hear the swains her beauty praise
And in such artful fond alluring ways
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And loose the ribbon round her slender waist
Then more familliar touch her courling hair
And praise her beauty as b[e]yond compare
At this sad pains around my heart will sting
But I near look nor tell a single thing
![]() | The early poems of John Clare | ![]() |