The Poetical Works of George Crabbe

A servant once, he still preserves
His name, and in his office serves.'
Alas! that mine should be the fate
Old David's sorrows to relate:
But they were brief; not long before
He died, his office was no more.
The kennel stands upon the ground,
With something of the former sound.'

'O then,' the grieving Man replied,
'No further, lassie, let me stray;
Here's nothing left of ancient pride,
Of what was grand, of what was gay:
But all is chang'd, is lost, is sold-
All, all that's left is chilling cold.
I seek for comfort here in vain,
Then lead me to my cot again.'

TALE XI. THE MERCHANT

Lo! one appears, to whom if I should dare To say farewell, the lordly man would stare, Would stretch his goodly form some inches higher,

And then, without a single word, retire;
Or from his state might haply condescend
To doubt his memory- Ha! your name,
my friend!'

He is the master of these things we see,
Those vessels proudly riding by the quay;
With all those mountain heaps of coal that lie,
For half a county's wonder and supply.
Boats, cables, anchors, all to him pertain,—
A swimming fortune, all his father's gain.
He was a porter on the quay, and one
Proud of his fortune, prouder of his son ;-
Who was ashamed of him, and much distress'd
To see his father was no better dress'd.
Yet for this parent did the son erect
A tomb-'tis whisper'd, he must not expect
The like for him, when he shall near it
sleep,-

Where we behold the marble cherubs weep.

There are no merchants who with us reside
In half his state,-no wonder he has pride;
Then he parades around that vast estate,
As if he spurn'd the slaves that make him
great;

Speaking in tone so high, as if the ware
Was nothing worth-at least not worth his

Yet in his seamen not a sign appears,
That they have much respect, or many fears;
With inattention they their patron meet,
As if they thought his dignity a cheat;
Or of himself as, having much to do
With their affairs, he very little knew;
As if his ways to them so well were known,
That they might hear, and bow, and take
their own.

He might contempt for men so humble feel,
But this experience taught him to conceal;
For sailors do not to a lord at land
As to their captain in submission stand;
Nor have mere pomp and pride of look or
speech,

Been able yet respect or awe to teach.

Guns, when with powder charged, will make

a noise,

To frighten babes, and be the sport of boys; But when within men find there's nothing

more,

They shout contemptuous at the idle roar.
Thus will our lofty man to all appear,
With nothing charged that they respect or

fear.

His Lady, too, to her large purse applies,
And all she fancies at the instant buys.
How bows the market, when, from stall to
stall,

She walks attended! how respectful all!
To her free orders every maid attends,
And strangers wonder what the woman
spends.

There is an auction, and the people shy, Are loth to bid, and yet desire to buy. Jealous they gaze with mingled hope and fear,

Of buying cheaply, and of paying dear.
They see the hammer with determined air
Seized for despatch, and bid in pure despair!

P. SAY, what yon buildings, neat indeed, He yet has pride,-the pride that licks the but low,

So much alike, in one commodious row?

F. You see our Alms-house: ancient men, decay'd,

dust;

Pride that can stoop, and feed upon the base
And wretched flattery of this humbling place;
Nay, feeds himself! his failing is avow'd,

Are here sustain'd, who lost their way in He of the cause that made him poor is proud;

trade;

Here they have all that sober men require―
So thought the Poet-meat, and clothes,
and fire;'

A little garden to each house pertains,
Convenient each, and kept with little pains.
Here for the sick are nurse and medicine
found;

Here walks and shaded alleys for the sound;
Books of devotion on the shelves are placed,
And not forbidden are the books of taste.
The Church is near them-in a common

seat

The pious men with grateful spirit meet: Thus from the world, which they no more admire,

They all in silent gratitude retire.

Proud of his greatness, of the sums he spent,
And honours shown him wheresoe'er he went.
Yes! there he walks, that lofty man is

he,

Who was so rich; but great he could not
be.

Now to the paupers who about him stand,
He tells of wonders by his bounty plann'd,
Tells of his traffic, where his vessels sail'd,
And what a trade he drove-before he fail'd;
Then what a failure, not a paltry sum,
Like a mean trader, but for half a plum ;
His Lady's wardrobe was apprised so high,
At his own sale, that nobody would buy !—
'But she is gone,' he cries,' and never saw
The spoil and havoc of our cruel law;
My steeds, our chariot that so roll'd along,

P. And is it so? Have all, with grateful Admired of all! they sold them for a song.

mind,

The world relinquish'd, and its ways resign'd? Look they not back with lingering love and slow,

You all can witness what my purse could do, And now I wear a badge like one of you, Who in my service had been proud to live,— And this is all a thankless town will give. And fain would once again the oft-tried I, who have raised the credit of that town, follies know? And gave it, thankless as it is, renown—

F. Too surely some! We must not think Who've done what no man there had done

that all,

Call'd to be hermits, would obey the call;
We must not think that all forget the state
In which they moved, and bless their humbler
fate;

But all may here the waste of life retrieve,
And, ere they leave the world, its vices leave.

before,

Now hide my head within an Alms-house door

Deprived of all-my wife, my wealth, my vote,

And in this blue defilement

Coat!'

-Curse the

TALE XII. THE BROTHER BURGESSES

Two busy BROTHERS in our place reside, And wealthy each, his party's boast and pride;

Sons of one father, of two mothers born, They hold each other in true party-scorn.

JAMES is the one who for the people fights, The sturdy champion of their dubious rights; Merchant and seaman rough, but not the less Keen in pursuit of his own happiness; And what his happiness ?-To see his store Of wealth increase, till Mammon groans, No more ! '

JAMES goes to church-because his father went,

But does not hide his leaning to dissent; Reasons for this, whoe'er may frown, he'll speak

Yet the old pew receives him once a week. CHARLES is a churchman, and has all the

zeal

That a strong member of his church can feel;
A loyal subject is the name he seeks;
He of his King and Country' proudly
speaks:

He says, his brother and a rebel-crew,
Minded like him, the nation would undo,
If they had power, or were esteem'd enough
Of those who had, to bring their plans to
proof.

JAMES answers sharply-' I will never place
My hopes upon a Lordship or a Grace!
To some great man you bow, to greater he,
Who to the greatest bends his supple knee,
That so the manna from the head may drop,
And at the lowest of the kneelers stop.
Lords call you loyal, and on them you call
To spare you something from our plunder'd

all:

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

pair unite?

Or was it done because the deed was right?
Did the cool spirit of enfeebling age
Chill the warm blood, and calm the party

rage,

And kindly lead them, in their closing day,
To put their animosity away,
Incline their hearts to live in love and peace,
And bid the ferment in each bosom cease?

F. Rich men have runners, who will to No! he'll refuse my offers-Let me think! and fro

In search of food for their amusement go;
Who watch their spirits, and with tales of
grief

Yield to their melancholy minds relief;
Who of their foes will each mishap relate,
And of their friends the fall or failings state.
One of this breed-the Jackall who supplied
Our Burgess Charles with food for spleen and
pride-

Before he utter'd what his memory brought,
On its effect, in doubtful matters, thought,
Lest he, perchance, in his intent might trip,
Or a strange fact might indiscreetly slip ;-
But he one morning had a tale to bring,
And felt full sure he need not weigh the thing;
That must be welcome! With a smiling face
He watch'd th' accustom'd nod, and took
his place.

'Well! you have news-I see it-Good,
my friend,

No preface, Peter. Speak, man, I attend.'
Then, sir, I'm told, nay, 'tis beyond
dispute,

Our Burgess James is routed horse and foot;
He'll not be seen; a clerk for him appears,
And their precautions testify their fears;
Before the week be ended you shall see,
That our famed patriot will a bankrupt be.'
'Will he by--! No, I will not be profane,
But James a bankrupt! Boy, my hat and cane.

So would I his here, give me pen and ink.
There! that will do.-What! let my father's
son,

My brother, want, and I-away! and run,
Run as for life, and then return-but stay
To take his message-now, away, away!'

The pride of James was shaken as he read-
The Brothers met-the angry spirit fled :
Few words were needed-in the look of each
There was a language words can never reach;
But when they took each other's hand, and
press'd,

Subsiding tumult sank to endless rest;
Nor party wrath with quick affection strove,
Drown'd in the tears of reconciling love.

Affairs confused, and business at a stand, Were soon set right by Charles's powerful hand;

The rudest mind in this rude place enjoy'd
The pleasing thought of enmity destroy'd,
And so destroy'd, that neither spite nor
spleen,

Nor peevish look from that blest hour were
seen;

Yet each his party and his spirit kept, Though all the harsh and angry passions slept.

P. And they too sleep! and, at their joint request,

Within one tomb, beneath one stone, they rest!

TALE XIII. THE DEAN'S LADY

NEXT, to a LADY I must bid adieu-
Whom some in mirth or malice call a Blue.'
There needs no more-when that same word
is said,

The men grow shy, respectful, and afraid;
Save the choice friends who in her colour dress,
And all her praise in words like hers express.
Why should proud man in man that know-
ledge prize,

Which he affects in woman to despise ?
Is he not envious when a lady gains,
In hours of leisure, and with little pains,
What he in many a year with painful toil
obtains?

Not so MIRANDA! She is ever prest

MIRANDA sees her morning levee fill'd With men, in every art and science skill'd-To give opinions, and she gives her best. Men who have gain'd a name, whom she To these with gentle smile her guests incline, Who come to hear, improve, applaud,—and

invites,

Because in men of genius she delights.
To these she puts her questions, that produce
Discussion vivid, and discourse abstruse:
She no opinion for its boldness spares,
But loves to show her audience what she dares;
The creeds of all men she takes leave to sift,
And, quite impartial, turns her own adrift.

Her noble mind, with independent force, Her Rector questions on his late discourse; Perplex'd and pain'd, he wishes to retire From one whom critics, nay, whom crowds, admire

dine.

Her hungry mind on every subject feeds; She Adam Smith and Dugald Stewart reads; Locke entertains her, and she wonders why His famous Essay is consider'd dry. For her amusement in her vacant hours Are earths and rocks, and animals and flowers: She could the farmer at his work assist, A systematic agriculturist.

Some men, indeed, would curb the female mind,

Nor let us see that they themselves are blind; From her whose faith on no man's dictate But-thank our stars!-the liberal times

leans,

allow,

Who her large creed from many a teacher That all may think, and men have rivals

gleans;

Who for herself will judge, debate, decide,
And be her own 'philosopher and guide.'

Why call a lady Blue? It is because
She reads, converses, studies for applause;
And therefore all that she desires to know
Is just as much as she can fairly show.
The real knowledge we in secret hide,
It is the counterfeit that makes our pride.
'A little knowledge is a dangerous thing!'
So sings the Poet, and so let him sing:
But if from little learning danger rose,
I know not who in safety could repose.
The evil rises from our own mistake,
When we our ignorance for knowledge take;
Or when the little that we have, through
pride,

And vain poor self-love view'd, is magnified.
Nor is your deepest Azure always free
From these same dangerous calls of vanity.

Yet of the sex are those who never show, By way of exhibition, what they know. Their books are read and praised, and so are they,

But all without design, without display.
Is there not One who reads the hearts of men,
And paints them strongly with unrivall❜d pen?
All their fierce Passions in her scenes appear,
Terror she bids arise, bids fall the tear;
Looks in the close recesses of the mind,
And gives the finish'd portraits to mankind,
By skill conducted, and to Nature true,-
And yet no man on earth would call JOANNA
Blue !

A few light matters, for she scorns to boast.
Her mathematic studies she resign'd-
They did not suit the genius of her mind.
She thought indeed the higher parts sublime,
But then they took a monstrous deal of time!'

Frequent and full the letters she delights To read in part; she names not him who writes

But here and there a precious sentence shows, Telling what literary debts she owes. Works, yet unprinted, for her judgment come, 'Alas!' she cries, and I must seal their doom.

Sworn to be just, the judgment gives me pain

Ah! why must truth be told, or man be vain ?'

Much she has written, and still deigns to

write,

But not an effort yet must see the light. 'Cruel!' her friends exclaim; 'unkind, unjust!'

But, no! the envious mass she will not trust; Content to hear that fame is due to her, Which on her works the world might not

confer

Content with loud applauses while she lives; Unfelt the pain the cruel critic gives.

« Forrige Fortsett »

Bøker