Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the caves of Neglect see poor Crawford retir'd,
To end a frail being, abridg'd and bemir'd;
Lo! her time-whiten'd head is disrob'd of those bays,
Which solac'd and warm'd her in happier days;

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See the violets droop that once sweeten'd the air,
And the yews mark the place as the den of Despair;
For briars and thorns every avenue closes,
That Nature once dress'd with her myrtles and roses.
Say, what was the cause that, destroying her powers,
Made life's chilly evening imbitter her hours!
It was ill-tim'd Desire gave birth to her pains,
And govern'd the Woman, and liv'd in her veins;
Betray'd her to Sorrow and fell Desperation,
And shook, like an earthquake, her high reputation.
To tell what she was, but offends recollection,
To tell what she is, gives a wound to affection.
Even History shrinks when decreed to portray,
The last hapless moments when Swift met decay;
By the force of free agency Crawford has pin'd,
And, the pressure of Wit cut off Swift from mankind;
Tho' both have been tortur'd by Misery's rod,
The first sunk by Folly, the last by his God.

In the whirlwind of Passion, tho' furious and warm,
The force of her judgment gave laws to the storm;
She rov'd the dominions of human ability,
But stopt on the verge, ere she pass'd possibility:
In piteous Euphrasia she issued her moan,
'Till Melpomene trembled, and wept on her throne;
Commanded the suite of Despair in her face,
And murder'd the tyrant with terrible Grace;
Tho' Siddons' high majesty knew not her mind,
Her action was excellent, just, and refin'd;
With the numbers of Otway extorted our groans,
And wonderful Harmony breath'd in her tones.

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The Siddons, convuls'd with the cause of her sadness,
Made the plaints of the heroine border on madness;
And summon'd Amazement in each studied start,
But Crawford effectually wounded the heart!
The first knock'd its centinels down by surprise,
The last gain'd admittance by—pathos and sighs;
And play'd 'till the tremors increas'd in gradation,
And the frame was an organ of tender vibration;
All the pulses accorded with cold unanimity,
And the nerves carried woe to the fingers' extremity.
Her name was once mighty, e'en still 'tis remember'd,
But the thing and idea are widely dismember'd;
On the historic page it is wond'rously seen,
In the grasp of the eye 'tis weak, shallow, and mean;
By the past and the present wise dogmas are taught,
Like the Tyber in act, and the Tyber in thought.

This nymph never learn'd, by cold Policy bound,
To measure her periods, and weigh ev'ry sound;
But, disdaining the aids of an artful pretence,
Gave Nature the rein, and a loose to her sense;
The meand'rings where subtilty toils after woe,
And the deep from whence classical rivulets flow;
She left for those daughters of Judgment to stem,
Who for Genius substitute fustian and phlegm.
Energetic and dignified, beauteous and charming,
Impressive, impassion'd, or chilling, or warming:
The grave Penseroso bent low to adore her,
And Love and Allegro with joy danc'd before her.

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Tho' her scenic exertions the eye met so gladly,
No theatric nymph drest her person so badly;
Be it mantua, or toga, or cestus, or lace,
'Twas absurdity all, from her heels to her face.

In a moment, when Vehemence fir'd her age,
A florid adventurer tickled her rage;
Like Eve, warm and panting, she met the temptation,
And, laughing, resign'd all her hopes of salvation.

Turn your fancy to Scotia, where rigorous snows
Envelope her rocks, and stern Eolus blows;
There Baddely sleeps on Mortality's bier,
Whose pallid remains claim the kindred tear:
Emaciate and squalid her body is laid,
Her limbs lacking shelter, her muscles decay'd.
Cadaverous, fœtid, despis'd, and deform'd,
Unmantled, scarce pitied, unstrung, and unwarm'd:
An eminent instance of feminine terror,
A public example to keep us from error:

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Voluptuous Bacchants have wept round her pillow,
And strew'd her cold temples with cypress and willow;
The train of Euphrosyne ran from their bowers,
And smooth'd the green turf, and bewail'd her last hours;
See Pan with his rugged libidinous throng,
Bring their reeds to awaken a requiem song:
'Till their lays fright the tenants that gladden the sky,
And the vales of Arcadia in murmurs reply.—

What a lesson is this for the beauteous and vain!
What a beacon to light the abysses of pain!—
Can those be the eyes that once sparkled with fire,
Which Splendor might envy, and Monarchs admire?
Ere the Nymph of her virginal zone was disarm'd,
She look'd and enraptur'd, she spoke and she charm'd;
Unmoan'd by the Worthy, she shudder'd and died,
And the worms loath a frame for which Majesty sigh'd.
—Oh Passion! that ever to weakness inclines,
Thou exquisite tyrant, who damns our designs;
Say, why should you shut us from Fear and Contrition,
Or lead such frail beings from Peace to Perdition!
Can the conquest be envied as hallow'd or glorious,
When angels deplore that the sense is victorious!
Ah me! can this world have a charm for the will,
To justify Guilt in an action of ill?
Should a state so restricted, unblest and uneven,
Impel us to combat the canons of Heaven?
Tho' cherub-fac'd Vice hides a moral infernal,
Her joys are but transient, her stings are eternal.

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But when shall we see female prudence have birth,
To set such a price as they ought on their worth?
When Bamber Gascoyne eats a hare without stuffing,
Or Walcot or Pratt write a treatise 'gainst puffing;
When Gordon's fatigu'd with sedition-fraught clamour,
When simpering Christie pollutes his white hammer:
When Brocklesby's language becomes insincere,
Or he cheats human woe of his purse and a tear.