Hail, happy pair! 't is yours to share The bliss of wealth without the care, To please, but not alone our eyes, Your taste, your goodness, charm the wise— The pleasant scenes that round you glow, Trees may be found, and lakes, as fair; Where sense of that superior kind, Folly, with wealth, may idly raise Her hopes to shine like you, Till she believes it true; But wealth no more can give that grace Than summer's fiery sun can chase Their darkness from the blind. But drop, you 'Il say, Reluctant-I obey, the useless pen: Yet let me take it once again, If not to praise, to pray That you, with partial grace, may deign This poor attempt to take, And I may oft behold again INFANCY-A FRAGMENT. [Mr. Crabbe's father possessed a small sailing-boat, in which he delighted to navigate the river. The first event which was deeply impressed on the Poet's memory was a voyage in this vessel. A party of amateur sailors was formed the yacht club of Aldborough to try the new purchase; a jovial dinner prepared at Orford, and a merry return anticipated at night; and his fond mother obtained permission for George to be one of the company. Soon after sunrise, in a fine summer morning, they were seated in their respective vessels, and started in gallant trim, tacking and manoeuvring on the bosom of the flickering water, as it winds gently towards its junction with the sea. The freshness of the early dawn, the anticipation of amusements at an unknown place, and no little exultation in his father's crack vessel, "made it," he said, "a morning of exquisite delight." Among his MSS. are the following verses on this early incident." - Life, antè, Vol. I. p. 14.] WHO on the new-born light can back return, Waked by some sweet maternal smile, no more No! Memory cannot reach, with all her power, Are keen perceptions of the senses' joy, And their distaste what then could they impart? That figs were luscious, and that rods had smart. But, though the Memory in that dubious way Alas! and what is earthly good? 't is lent Evil to hide, to soften, to prevent, By scenes and shows that cheat the wandering eye, While the more pompous misery passes by; Shifts and amusements that awhile succeed, And heads are turn'd, that bosoms may not bleed: 'Tis but the slow or rapid flight of Pain. Why does the Lover with such rapture fly To his dear mistress?—He shall show us why: Because her absence is such cause of grief Why, then, that smile is Pleasure:-True, yet still 'Tis but the absence of the former ill: For, married, soon at will he comes and goes; Then pleasures die, and pains become repose, Yes! looking back as early as I can, I see the griefs that seize their subject Man, But it was Misery stung me in the day Yet was there something in that first-born ill, That my first grief: but, oh! in after-years Sweet was the morning's breath, the inland tide, And our boat gliding, where alone could glide Small craft and they oft touch'd on either side. It was my first-born joy. I heard them say, "Let the child go; he will enjoy the day." For children ever feel delighted when They take their portion, and enjoy with men. Give him the pastime that the old partake, And he will quickly top and taw forsake. The linnet chirp'd upon the furze as well, A town appear'd, and where an infant went, Could they determine, on themselves intent? (1) [Mr. Crabbe's early religious impressions were strongly influenced by those of his mother; who was a deeply devout woman. Her mildness, humility, patient endurance of afflictions and sufferings, meek habits, and devout spirit, strongly recommended her example to her son. - Life, ante, Vol. I. p. 106.] |