 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
100
CRAZY NELL
A TRUE STORY
The sun was low sinking behind the far trees,
And, crossing the path, humming home were the bees;
And darker and darker it grew by degrees,
And crows they flock'd quawking to rest:
When, unknown to her parents, Nell slove on her hat,
And o'er the fields hurried—scarce knew she for what;
But her sweetheart, in taking advantage and that,
Had kiss'd, and had promis'd the best.
And, crossing the path, humming home were the bees;
And darker and darker it grew by degrees,
And crows they flock'd quawking to rest:
When, unknown to her parents, Nell slove on her hat,
And o'er the fields hurried—scarce knew she for what;
But her sweetheart, in taking advantage and that,
Had kiss'd, and had promis'd the best.
Poor maidens! of husbands so much they conceit,
The daisy scarce touch'd rose unhurt from her feet,
So eager she hasten'd her lover to meet,
As to make him to wait was unjust;
On the wood, dim discover'd, she fixed her eyes—
Such a queer spot to meet in—suspicions might rise;
But the fond word ‘a sweetheart’ such goodness implies,
Ah, who would a lover distrust!
The daisy scarce touch'd rose unhurt from her feet,
So eager she hasten'd her lover to meet,
As to make him to wait was unjust;
On the wood, dim discover'd, she fixed her eyes—
Such a queer spot to meet in—suspicions might rise;
But the fond word ‘a sweetheart’ such goodness implies,
Ah, who would a lover distrust!
More gloomy and darker—black clouds hung the wind,
Far objects diminish'd before and behind,
More narrow and narrow the circle declin'd,
And silence reign'd awfully round,
When Nelly within the wood-riding sat down;
She listen'd, and lapp'd up her arms in her gown;
Far, far from her cottage, and far from the town,
And her sweetheart not yet to be found.
Far objects diminish'd before and behind,
More narrow and narrow the circle declin'd,
And silence reign'd awfully round,
101
She listen'd, and lapp'd up her arms in her gown;
Far, far from her cottage, and far from the town,
And her sweetheart not yet to be found.
The minutes seem'd hours—with impatience she heard
The flap of a leaf, and the twit of a bird;
The least little trifle that whisper'd or stirr'd,
Hope pictur'd her lover as nigh:
When wearied with sitting, she wander'd about,
And open'd the wood-gate, and gave a look out;
And fain would have halloo'd, but fear had a doubt
That thieves might be lurking hard by.
The flap of a leaf, and the twit of a bird;
The least little trifle that whisper'd or stirr'd,
Hope pictur'd her lover as nigh:
When wearied with sitting, she wander'd about,
And open'd the wood-gate, and gave a look out;
And fain would have halloo'd, but fear had a doubt
That thieves might be lurking hard by.
Far clocks count eleven—‘He won't be long now,’
Her anxious hopes whisper'd—hoarse wav'd the wood bough;
—‘He heeds not my fears, or he's false to his vow!’
Poor Nelly sat doubtful, and sigh'd:
The man who had promis'd her husband to be,
And to wed on the morrow—her friends all could see
That a good-for-naught sort of a fellow was he,
And they hoped nothing worse might betide.
Her anxious hopes whisper'd—hoarse wav'd the wood bough;
—‘He heeds not my fears, or he's false to his vow!’
Poor Nelly sat doubtful, and sigh'd:
The man who had promis'd her husband to be,
And to wed on the morrow—her friends all could see
That a good-for-naught sort of a fellow was he,
And they hoped nothing worse might betide.
At length, as in fear, slowly tapp'd the wood-gate;
'Twas Ben!—she complain'd so long painful to wait:
Deep design hung his looks, he but mumbled, ‘'Tis late,’
And pass'd her, and bid her come on.
The mind plainly pictures that night-hour of dread,
In the midst of a wood! where the trees overhead
The darkness increased—a dungeon they spread,
And the clock at the moment toll'd one!
'Twas Ben!—she complain'd so long painful to wait:
Deep design hung his looks, he but mumbled, ‘'Tis late,’
And pass'd her, and bid her come on.
The mind plainly pictures that night-hour of dread,
In the midst of a wood! where the trees overhead
The darkness increased—a dungeon they spread,
And the clock at the moment toll'd one!
Nell fain would have forc'd, as she follow'd, some chat,
And trifled, on purpose, with this thing and that,
And complain'd of the dew-droppings spoiling her hat;
But nothing Ben's silence would break.
Extensive the forest, the roads to and fro,
And this way and that way, above and below,
As crossing the ridings, as winding they go—
‘Ah! what road or way can he seek?’
And trifled, on purpose, with this thing and that,
And complain'd of the dew-droppings spoiling her hat;
But nothing Ben's silence would break.
Extensive the forest, the roads to and fro,
And this way and that way, above and below,
As crossing the ridings, as winding they go—
‘Ah! what road or way can he seek?’
102
Her eye, ever watchful, now caught an alarm;
Lights gleam, and tools tinkle, as if nigh a farm:
‘Oh, don't walk so fast, Ben—I'm fearful of harm!
She said, and shrugg'd closer behind.
‘That light's from my house!’ 'twas the first word she caught
From his lips, since he through the dark wood had her brought.
A house in a wood! Oh, good God! what a thought;
What sensations then rush'd on her mind!
Lights gleam, and tools tinkle, as if nigh a farm:
‘Oh, don't walk so fast, Ben—I'm fearful of harm!
She said, and shrugg'd closer behind.
‘That light's from my house!’ 'twas the first word she caught
From his lips, since he through the dark wood had her brought.
A house in a wood! Oh, good God! what a thought;
What sensations then rush'd on her mind!
The things which her friends and her neighbours had said
Afresh at that moment all jump'd in her head;
And mistrust, for the first time, now fill'd her with dread:
And as she approach'd, she could see
How better, for her, their advice to have ta'en;
And she wish'd to herself then she had—but in vain:
—A heap of fresh mould, and a spade, she saw plain,
And a lantern tied up to a tree.
Afresh at that moment all jump'd in her head;
And mistrust, for the first time, now fill'd her with dread:
And as she approach'd, she could see
How better, for her, their advice to have ta'en;
And she wish'd to herself then she had—but in vain:
—A heap of fresh mould, and a spade, she saw plain,
And a lantern tied up to a tree.
‘Here they come!’ a voice whispers;—‘Haste! put out the light.’
‘No: dig the grave deeper!’—‘Very dark is the night.’
Slow mutterings mingled.—Oh, dismal the sight!
—The fate of poor Nelly was plain.
Fear chill'd through her heart—but Hope whisper'd her—Fly!
Chance seiz'd on the moment, a wind-gust blew high,
She slipt in the thicket—he turn'd not his eye,
And the grave-diggers waited in vain.
‘No: dig the grave deeper!’—‘Very dark is the night.’
Slow mutterings mingled.—Oh, dismal the sight!
—The fate of poor Nelly was plain.
Fear chill'd through her heart—but Hope whisper'd her—Fly!
Chance seiz'd on the moment, a wind-gust blew high,
She slipt in the thicket—he turn'd not his eye,
And the grave-diggers waited in vain.
At that fearful moment, so dreadfully dark,
How welcome the song of the shepherd, or lark;
How cheery to listen, and hear the dog bark,
As through the dark wood she fled fast:
But, horror of horrors, all nature was hush!
Not a sound was there heard—save a blackbird, or thrush,
That, started from sleep, flusker'd out of the bush,
Which her brushing clothes shook as they past.
How welcome the song of the shepherd, or lark;
How cheery to listen, and hear the dog bark,
As through the dark wood she fled fast:
But, horror of horrors, all nature was hush!
Not a sound was there heard—save a blackbird, or thrush,
That, started from sleep, flusker'd out of the bush,
Which her brushing clothes shook as they past.
Fear now truly pictur'd: she ne'er turn'd her head
Either this way or that way—straight forward she fled;
And Fancy, still hearing the horrors with dread,
On faster and fearfuller stole.
The matted leaves rustle—the boughs swiftly part,
Her hands and her face with the brambles did smart;
But, oh! the worst anguish was felt at her heart—
Ben's unkindness struck death to her soul.
Either this way or that way—straight forward she fled;
103
On faster and fearfuller stole.
The matted leaves rustle—the boughs swiftly part,
Her hands and her face with the brambles did smart;
But, oh! the worst anguish was felt at her heart—
Ben's unkindness struck death to her soul.
Now glimmering lighter the forest appears,
And Hope, the sweet comforter, soften'd her fears;
Light and liberty, Darkness! thy horror endears;
Great bliss did the omen impart:
The forest, its end, and its terrors gone by,
She breath'd the free air, and she saw the blue sky;
Her own fields she knew—to her home did she fly,
And great was the joy of her heart.
And Hope, the sweet comforter, soften'd her fears;
Light and liberty, Darkness! thy horror endears;
Great bliss did the omen impart:
The forest, its end, and its terrors gone by,
She breath'd the free air, and she saw the blue sky;
Her own fields she knew—to her home did she fly,
And great was the joy of her heart.
Oh, prospect endearing! the village to view,
The morn sweet appearing,—and gay the cock crew,
When, mangled by brambles and dabbled in dew,
She gave a loud rap at the door:
The parents in raptures wept over their child;
She mutter'd her terrors—her eyes rolled wild—
‘They dig the grave deeper!—Your Nelly's beguil'd!’
She said, and she siled on the floor.
The morn sweet appearing,—and gay the cock crew,
When, mangled by brambles and dabbled in dew,
She gave a loud rap at the door:
The parents in raptures wept over their child;
She mutter'd her terrors—her eyes rolled wild—
‘They dig the grave deeper!—Your Nelly's beguil'd!’
She said, and she siled on the floor.
Poor Nell soon recover'd; but, ah! to her cost,
Her sense and her reason for ever were lost:
And scorch'd by the summer, and chill'd by the frost,
A maniac, restless and wild,
Now crazy Nell rambles; and still she will weep,
And, fearless, at night into hovels will creep.
Fond parents! alas, their affliction is deep,
And vainly they comfort their child.
Her sense and her reason for ever were lost:
And scorch'd by the summer, and chill'd by the frost,
A maniac, restless and wild,
Now crazy Nell rambles; and still she will weep,
And, fearless, at night into hovels will creep.
Fond parents! alas, their affliction is deep,
And vainly they comfort their child.
| The Poems of John Clare | |