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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THE FATE OF AMY
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
THE FATE OF AMY
A Tale
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Beneath a sheltering woods warm sideWhere many a tree expands
Their branches oer the neighbouring brook
A ruind cottage stands
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Tho now left desolate & lostIts origin & all
Owls hooting from the roofles walls
Rejoicing in its fall
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A time was come—(remembrance knows)Tho now that times gone bye
When that was seen to flourish gay
& pleasing to the eye
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On that same ground the brambles hide& stinking weeds oer run
A orchard bent its golden boughs
& reddend in the sun
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Yon nettles where they're left to spredThere once a garden smild
& lovly was the spot to view
Tho now so lost & wild
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& where the sickly eldern lovesTo top the mouldering wall
& Ivys kind encroaching care
Delays the tottering fall
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There once a mothers only JoyA daughter lovly fair
As ever bloomd beneath the sun
Was nursd & cherishd there
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The cottage then was known around—The neighbouring village swain[s]
Would often wander by to view
That charmer of the plains
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Where softest blush of rosey wild& awthorns fairest blow
But meanly serves to paint her cheek
& bosoms rival snow
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The lovliest blossom of the plainsThe charming Amy provd
In natures sweetest charms adornd
—Those charms by all belov'd
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Sweet innoscence the charms are thineThat every bosom warms
Fair as she was she livd alone
A stranger to her charms
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Unmovd the praise of swains she heardNor proud at their despair
But thought they scoft her when they praisd
And knew not she was fair
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Nor did she for the joys of youthForget parental care
But to her aged mother provd
As good as she was fair
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Who then by age & pain infirmdOn her for help relyd
& how to help her all she could
Her every thought employd
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No tenderer mother to a childThroughout the world could be
& in return no daughter provd
More dutiful then she
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The pains of age she sympathizd& soothd & wisht to share
In short the aged helples dame
Was Amys only care
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But age had pains—& they was allLifes cares they little knew
Its billows neer encompassd them
—They waded smoothly thro
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The tender father now no moreDid for them both provide
The wealth by his Industry gaind
All wants to come supplyd
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Kind heaven upon their labours smildIndustry gave increase
The cottage was contentments own
Abode of health & peace
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Alas the tongue of fate is seald& kept for ever dumb
To morrows met with blinded eyes
We know not whats to come
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Blythe as the Lark as Crickets gayThat chyrupt in the h[e]arth
This sun of beautys time was spent
In innofensive mirth
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Meek as the lambs that throngd her doorAs innoscent as they
Her hours passd on & charms improvd
With each succeeding day
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So smiling on the sunny plainThe lovly daiseys blow
Unconsious of the carless foot
That lays their beauty low
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So blooms the lilly of the vale(Ye beauties o be wise)
Untimley blasts oertake its bloom
It withers & it dies
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The humble cot that lonly stoodFar from the neighbouring Vill
Its church that topt the willow groves
Lay far upon the hill
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Which made all company desird& welcome to the dame
& oft to tell the village news
The neighbouring gossips came
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—Young Edward mingld with the restAn artful swain was he
Who laughd & told his merry jests
For custom made him free
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& oft with Amy toy'd & playdWhile harmless as the dove
Her artless unsuspecting heart
But little thought of Love
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But frequent visits gaind esteemEach time of Longer stay
& custom did his name endear
—He stole her heart away
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So fairest flower adorn the wild& most endangerd stand
The soonest seen—a certain prey
To some destroying hand
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& ah the hand their bloom destroysThis truth too oft may show
That meaner charms superior shine
& beauty but a foe
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Her choise was fix'd on him aloneThe rest but vainly strove
& worse then all the rest is he
But blind the eyes of love
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Of him full many a maid complaindThe lover of an hour
That like the ever changing bee
Sipt sweets from every flower
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Alas those slighted pains are smallIf all such maidens know
But she was fair & he designd
To work her further woe
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Her innoscence his bosom fir'dSo long'd to be enjoy'd
& he to gain his wish'd for ends
Each sub[t]le art employ'd
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Ah he employd his subtle artsAlas too sad to tell
The winning ways which he employ'd
Succeeded but too well
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So artless Innosent & youngSo ready to believe
A stranger to the world was she
& easy to decieve
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Ah now fare well to beautys boastCharms so admir'd before
Now innoscence has lost its sweets
Her beauties bloom no more
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Ye meaner beauties be advis'dLet this as such remain
An hour of pleasure vainly spent
May leave an age of pain
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The flowers the sultry summer killsSprings milder suns restore
But innoscence that fickle charm
Blooms once—& blooms no more
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The swains who lov'd, no more admireTheir hearts no beauty warms
& maidens triumph in her fall
That envy'd once her charms
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Lost was that sweet simplicityHer eyes bright lustre fled
& oer her cheeks where roses bloom'd
A sickly paleness spread
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So fade the flower before its timeWhere canker worms assail
So droops the bud upon its stem
Beneath the sickly gale
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The mother saw the sudden changeWhere health so latly smild
Too much—& O suspecting more
Grew anxious for her child
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& all the kindness in her powerThe tender mother shows
In hopes such kindly means would make
Her fearless to disclose
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& oft she hinted if a crimeThro ignorance beguild
Not to conceal the crime in fear
For none should wrong her child
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Or if the rose that left her cheekWas banish'd by disease
‘Fear god my child’ she oft would say
& you may hope for ease
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& still she pray'd—& still had hopesThere was no injury done
& still advis'd the ruind girl
The worlds deciet to shun
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& many a Cautionary taleOf hapless maidens fate
(From trusting man) to warn her told
But told alas too late
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A tender mothers painful caresIn vain the loss supply
The wide mouth'd world—its sport & scorn
Then meet—she'd sooner dye
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Advice but agravated woe& ease an empty sound
No one could ease the pains she felt
But him that gave the wound
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& he wild youth had left her nowUnfeeling as the stone
—Fair maids beware lest careless ways
Make amys fate your own
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What hard'n'd brutes such villians areTo wrong the artless maid
To stain the lillies virgin bloom
& cause the rose to fade
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O may the charms of Myra bloomEach bosom still to warm
& curse the Villian who would dare
To do such beauties harm
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To blight that rosebuds sweetest bloomThat opens all divine
Those swelling hills of snow to stain
& bid them cease to shine
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O may that seat of InnosenceAs lovly still appear
& keep those eyes of heavenly blue
Still strangers to a tear
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Lov'd Myra if these artless strainsShould meet your kind regard
Let amys fate a warning prove
& I have my reward—
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Ill fated girl too late she foundAs but too many find
False Edwards love as light as down
& Vows as fleet as wind
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But one hope left & that she soughtTo hide approaching shame
& Pity while she drops a tear
Forbears the rest to name
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The widow'd mother tho so old& ready to depart
Was not ordain'd to live her time
The sad news broke her heart
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Born down beneath a weight of years& all the pains they gave
But little added weights requir'd
To crush her in the grave
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The strong oak braves the rudest windWhile to the breeze as well
The sickly aged willow falls
& so the mother fell
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Beside the pool the Willow bendsThe dew bent daisey weeps
& where the turfy hillock swells
The luckless amy sleeps
| The early poems of John Clare | |