The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now let my Muse return to Crispin's tale;
New toils recite, and recent woes bewail;
And, from loose fragments of remaining lays,
Show how he spent more harsh dependent, days—
How, in the midst of Spring's rich, sportive, reign,
His heart, most wretched! reach'd the hapless Plain—
Why smiling Spring, to him, prov'd more severe
Than Winter's frosts would, frowning all the Year—
Why Plains felt painful, and fair Skies unkind—
He left dear Daphne, and his Flock, behind!

When drear November, with distemper'd breath,
Wing'd o'er the barren wilds disease and death;
Then, tho' the Champaign starv'd, the Welkin storm'd;
And savage Nature's face look'd all deform'd;
His Mind was tranquil, and his Heart was eas'd,
While beauteous Daphne and fond Offspring pleas'd!
Dear Daphne's charms made Heart and Soul serene,
Much more than views of sweetest vernal scene—
Joys far more genial than from Summer flow'd,
The blameless luxuries of her Love bestow'd!

While thus residing on his native heights
'Mid sharp misfortunes, still more dear delights—
Death having now Vanessa's knot untied,
Her soul felt pregnant with full broods of Pride;
While to exhibit more Wealth, Wit, and Taste,
Resolv'd to realize vast schemes at last.

Aspiring plans had long her bosom burn'd,
And, now, each petty Habitation's spurn'd—

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Determin'd much sublimer Domes to build,
Than those mean Fanes, her Pride, before o'er-fill'd—
With Altars high'r, and Off'rings richer, stor'd;
Where she, great Goddess! might be more ador'd,
By Worshippers well-pick'd, of pompous—proud—
And rich—and rare—from great Augusta's crowd,
While Winter spread his desolating pow'rs
O'er barren hills, and lawns, and leafless bow'rs—
But might, in gothic Mansion, on the Plain,
Through leafy, flowery, fruitful, Seasons, reign;
That there, her sylvan Votaries, all, might view
Her grand achievements, and give glory due!
There she enlarg'd her antiquated Dome,
Which worthless Monks long made their idle Home;
Till Henry, promptly, by long Pride and Lust,
Laid all its honours prostrate in the Dust!
There, to administer more food for Pride,
With ornaments bedeck'd the fair outside,
Where she might show her Wealth—her Taste display—
Expecting praise from all who pass'd that way;
While from her Friends she hop'd more fame to win
Courtiers, or Clowns, when worshipping within.

In these proud Temples was poor Crispin found,
At different Seasons, while the World roll'd round;
And thro' those Seasons was our Son of Song,
Whirl'd round, with Whim, or dragg'd dull days along!
Engag'd in schemes which Imitation catch'd,
Or Fancy in her procreant hotbed hatch'd,
Foreign, or native, obvious, or abstruse;
To furnish flattery, or adopt for use—
Some that seem'd consonant with Common Sense,
Much more that gave his faithful heart offence—
Borne on Imagination's Air-balloon;
Now dragg'd in dirt—now mounting near the Moon,
In counter-currents forc'd to wing his flight;
Now clear—now cloudy—oftener wrong than right.
Embarrass'd, now among encumbering crowds—
Now, fluctuating, far beyond the clouds.
With praise inflated, or collaps'd by wrath,
Ne'er swimming, smoothly, in a medium path;
But wafted wild, on airy billows buoy'd,
The sport of Prejudice, or dupe of Pride!
Tossing, and desultory—never still—
For Whim, or Passion, sway'd the Pilot's Will!
Reason was forc'd to plod in Fancy's school,
Fashion's purveyor, or Caprice's Fool!
Conscience felt sometimes plagu'd, and frequent pain'd,
When witless Custom rul'd, or Ignorance reign'd—
In spite of Piety, and Reason's choice,
A catering drudge for Vanity, and Vice!
Oft'n, for Profaneness, Piety was chid!
And moral maxims forcibly forbid!
Unwilling tool in wicked plan, or plot,
By Cunning sketch'd, or black surmise begot—
A mere machine for Policy, or Pet,
In which unnumbered contradictions met.

Here was a puzzling plan to execute,
That ne'er would Conscience, nor calm Wisdom, suit.
Some thoughtless Theory—some idle Dream—
To Grace repugnant, and pure Christian Scheme.
A System, strange, compell'd him to pursue;
The Customs complex, and the Laws all new.
Far different from the former burdens borne,
In rearing Cattle, and in raising Corn—
Each rude contrivance centering full in Self,
For magnifying Fame, yet sparing Pelf.
Self-interest primum mobile in both—
Here—cool Economy—there—greatest growth.
There, to scrape; scuffle; and accumulate—
Here, to reduce expence to narrowest rate;
Except on Ostentation's Gala-days,
When Fires must burn, and fragrant Candles blaze;
While all the mix'd varieties of Meat,
Flesh—Fish—Fowl—Game, and Fruit, must grace the Treat;
With large libations of most costly Wine,
That Scholars—Commons—Lords—and Dukes—might dine—
Each proud expence tried Taste could then contrive,
To keep Importance, and loved Fame, alive!
'Twas gathering single grains of golden sands,
Then scattering round the heaps with both her hands!
Collecting drops of dew from herby blades,
To pour them forth, profuse, in vast cascades!
At all times, else, most prudent plans devis'd,
Each drop well-measured, and each morsel pois'd!
A System Wealth must form in Self-defence,
To furnish Fame's—Pomp's—Luxury's—consequence;
When frequent Concerts—Readings—Feast, and Rout,
Kept Fortune's amplest funds fast pouring out!

Such was the regular routine in Town,
In hopes to reap superlative Renown,

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From polish'd circles, of high-sounding Name,
Whose pow'rs, alone, could amplify her Fame—
While, in her precincts, on the simpler Plain,
To purchase praise, and rural glory gain,
Far other arts, and mysteries, must be tried,
To draw Idolatry, and pamper Pride.
While Wisdom wish'd to see that Pride subdued,
And Idols, all, ere Death the Soul denude!