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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[Shepherd why is this complaining] |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
[Shepherd why is this complaining]
Shepherd why is this complaining
So I askd a langu[i]d swain
Bending oer his hook in sorrow
As I wanderd oer the plain
So I askd a langu[i]d swain
Bending oer his hook in sorrow
As I wanderd oer the plain
509
Great he answrd is my anguish
My poor dog a slave to me
Brutish as I usd him left me
Cruel cruel should I be
My poor dog a slave to me
Brutish as I usd him left me
Cruel cruel should I be
Had I said some word of comfort
As he limpt across the plain
Had I said come back my rover
Twoud have comforted his pain
As he limpt across the plain
Had I said come back my rover
Twoud have comforted his pain
Cruel how the blow sup[r]isd him
Little did he think to see
Such usage from his once kind master
Kind as he once usd to be
Little did he think to see
Such usage from his once kind master
Kind as he once usd to be
O the Pitying looks he left me
As he limpt across the plain
Whats my fault he turnd to ask me
Wreathing in the greatest pain
As he limpt across the plain
Whats my fault he turnd to ask me
Wreathing in the greatest pain
O the howl that told his anguish
From the blow he had from me
Master thy hot anger cruel
Cruel cruel shoud I be
From the blow he had from me
Master thy hot anger cruel
Cruel cruel shoud I be
But I struck him in my passion
While a worthless fellow sed
He killd his lambs a nights—morover
If I should [k]no[w] hed shoot him dead
While a worthless fellow sed
He killd his lambs a nights—morover
If I should [k]no[w] hed shoot him dead
Cruel was the blow I gave him
Vengance when the fellow spoke
Wangd my hook at my poor rover
O it was a cruel stroke
Vengance when the fellow spoke
Wangd my hook at my poor rover
O it was a cruel stroke
A broken leg he traild behind him
As he limpt across the plain
Still my evil eyes behold him
Still he turns & howls again
As he limpt across the plain
Still my evil eyes behold him
Still he turns & howls again
510
Had my rover but been guilty
Then I should not sorrowd long
But my dog was good & harmless
Never known to do a wrong
Then I should not sorrowd long
But my dog was good & harmless
Never known to do a wrong
Tother night the trap was fixed
This morning did the snare suceed
A crafty fox had done the murder
Here afresh my bosom bleeds
This morning did the snare suceed
A crafty fox had done the murder
Here afresh my bosom bleeds
Rover why did I believe it
Guilty thou wast never known
O to be of crimes suspected
Caus thou pickt the ofal bone
Guilty thou wast never known
O to be of crimes suspected
Caus thou pickt the ofal bone
Thus the shepherd told his anguish
Verily my bosom bled
Th[r]ee days have I hunted vainly
For my dog he sighing said
Verily my bosom bled
Th[r]ee days have I hunted vainly
For my dog he sighing said
Childern oer the green came running
Shepherd stop the childern said
In yon wood your dog is dying
Now abouts your rovers dead
Shepherd stop the childern said
In yon wood your dog is dying
Now abouts your rovers dead
When we calld him rover rover
Wistfuly he lookd around
Strove to stir then wimperd loudly
Then again he lick his wound
Wistfuly he lookd around
Strove to stir then wimperd loudly
Then again he lick his wound
Ah we dearly lovd poor rover
Fain woud we have gen him bread
He lickt our hands & woud not eat it
Lookd & howld & hung his head
Fain woud we have gen him bread
He lickt our hands & woud not eat it
Lookd & howld & hung his head
Others came wi news more piercing
Shep[h]erd rovers dead they cryd
Oer & oer he rolld him howling
Then he lickt his wound & dy'd
Shep[h]erd rovers dead they cryd
Oer & oer he rolld him howling
Then he lickt his wound & dy'd
511
O the shepherds grief & anguish
Verrily my bosom bled
Pity left him to his sorrow
Mourning oer his rover dead
Verrily my bosom bled
Pity left him to his sorrow
Mourning oer his rover dead
| The early poems of John Clare | |