University of Virginia Library

Thus different, now, were Crispin's toils and cares;
Yet, all his cornfields, here, were strew'd with tares—
Like every Scene of sublunary Life,
Compos'd of pain and transport, peace and strife—
For all this mingled Mass of earthly things,
Is rul'd by peccant Commons—Peers—and Kings—
While those that constitute its common Troops,
Are form'd of Wits and Dunces, Knaves and Dupes;
Whose adverse views of Fortune, or of Fame,
For ever counteract each other's claim.
All mix'd, and justling, generate mutual jars—
Grumblings, and Litigations—Words, and Wars—
Till, weary of such warfare, pains, and toils,
Mute Christians long to quit their mortal Coils—
From Earth, and all its fallacies, to fly,
And, with untented Spirits, climb the Sky!
Meantime, with elevated eyes of Hope,
Looking thro' Life's wild Scenes, with ampler scope;
Faith finds Christ's providential Pow'r controul,
His Goodness guard, His Wisdom guide the Whole;
Conscious His bounteous Love selects the best,
They feel His influence tranquilize the breast,
Each Passion still, and lull the Soul to rest!

Not only was the Bard obliged to mark
Close Home-economy, from dawn to dark—
Teach others when to rise, and when retire—
Provide all proper food, and watch each fire—
Expence, and spending, mark, of bread and meat—
See coals were not consum'd in place of peat—
Still regulate external objects round—
Contrive and guard the ornamented ground—
Relieve the Gard'ner at his dinner-meal,
Lest near Connexions flow'rs, or fruitage, steal—
In countless other offices concern'd,
House-Steward, ne'er before, had ever learn'd;
Tho' not in name, in number more than Scrub's,
And, in each office, felt more frequent snubs.

He would have fill'd, with pleasure, each employ,
And found fresh labours bring him larger joy,
Had he, when talents, time, and strength, were spent,
Found cares, and pains, and toils, produce content—
But coals were squander'd—wood was burnt in waste—
The table too expensive, each repast;
And well-watch'd Cupboard, caus'd a dismal din,
One moment left unlock'd when Orts were in—
So Crispin, ere he'd clos'd his moderate meal,
Was forced to skulk, and, thief-like, slily, steal,
To watch remaining mammocks borne away,
And cautiously secure, with lock and key;
Lest, when inferior Myrmidons had din'd,
Some parts might be, by pilfering hands, purloin'd—
Each scrap imprison'd till the stated hour
When servile Swine more offals might devour.

'Tis wise, in bounded Wealth to count the cost,
Nor let one fragment of God's gifts be lost.
The blest Redeemer's kind commandment pleads
To justify such pure, prudential deeds—
Yet still His bright example stronger taught,
What Pride and Pomp, would, falsely deem a fault.
For vain distinction sought no second dish,
But fed, with Friends, on barley-bread and fish.

This was a part of Crispin's daily toil,
Providing needfuls, and preventing spoil;
Not, simply, to comply with Christ's command,
But, cheaply, to supply her servile Band.
Another portion of his active hours,
Which exercis'd his Mind's more ample pow'rs,
Was Builders—Labourers—Gardeners, to direct;
To urge full efforts, and preclude neglect—
For swarms were busied round her rural Dome,
Preparing haughty Pride a pompous Home;
And numbers more, to make internals trim,
For vaunting Vanity, and wanton Whim.
Here was full scope for Crispin's utmost arts,
To watch the workers—and inspect the parts—
'Twas Honour's—Conscience's—and Duty's, call,
To stimulate—controul—and order—all—
For, tho' the schemes were sketch'd by abler hands,
And workmen brought, in well-appointed bands,
Yet mere mechanics count it not a crime
To steal materials, or to waste their time;
Or execute some inexpedient plans,
That thwart the Master's views, but suit the Man's;
Regarding not the kind Employer's cost,
If no advantage to themselves be lost.
And Masters, oft, imperfectly attend;
Oft, present, found not their Employer's Friend,
But plans, and projects, ardently advise,
Where Agent's individual interest lies.

Here rose repeated proofs how cunning Skill
Could work its purpose on capricious Will;
Inspiring Whim with strange bewildering dreams,
To further selfish, curious, novel, schemes;
Opening the purse of Vanity and Pride,
And guiding to its own the golden tide.

Year after year, on that productive spot,
'Twas Architects', and Artists', rapturing lot
To see their past endeavours all disgrac'd,
And what one season rear'd the next eras'd:
This, to demolish—that, re-edify;
Sustaining, nearly as long a siege as Troy,
Till the strange mangled Mansion rose to sight,
In every varied aspect, heteroclite—
Thus where the capabilities of Brown,
Had troops of vegetable tribes dug down,
When skilful Wyatt's tasteful scheme was heard,
Their new-rais'd ranks of happier plants appear'd.

Chief, Crispin's tasks employ'd plebeian Trains,
In corps collected from the neighbouring plains,
To execute the schemes his pregnant Mind,
For usefulness and beauty both, design'd.
Bestow'd and disciplin'd the order'd Bands
To polish and improve the bordering Lands—
To cut, with winding Walks, thick woodlands through,
And lead the Lake across the varied View—
To spread Plantations o'er the haggard heath,
Hiding its drear deformities beneath—
To fill the fresh-form'd Shrubbery's grassless ground,
With colonies of strawberries, reddening round;
Bestowing countless toils, and constant care,
To keep all former plans, and prospects, fair;
Nor wish'd he fuller fame, or high'r reward,
Than gracious countenance and kind regard.

He claim'd no capabilities, like Brown;
Nor wish'd, like Wyatt, architectural crown—
He only strove to win, with studious toil,
His heart's applause, and Patroness's smile!
Then every change had charm'd his raptur'd sight,
And giv'n his Heart unlimited delight!
Then genuine joys had grown in every glade!
High-thrilling transports in each thickening shade!
Made each lov'd lawn with gladdening verdure glow!
Clear lakes, with brightening lustre, shine below!
More freshening foliage spread o'er every spray,
Concealing curves through every winding way;
Twined all their naked boles with woodbines, fair,
That soothe each eye, and scent the odourous Air;
His bosom bless'd in every pure pursuit,
In fostering flow'rs, and cultivating fruit—
Not with a vain pretence, or private view,
To gratify frail Self with something new;
But for true Friend fresh pleasures to afford,
To grace her toilette, and to crown her board!
Then had the simple Minstrel tun'd his voice,
To chaunt her praises, and her Paradise!
Again had urg'd his Muse's utmost art
To sing the fond effusions of his heart!
But, ah! what comfort could affections feel
Amidst his industry, and ardent zeal,
When, while his best endeavours were bestow'd,
He felt the bridling bit, or galling goad!
Felt all his previous energies represt,
By counteracting Spleen, or Pride's behest;
And every trifle innocence enjoy'd,
Rude Hate restrain'd, or dark Revenge destroy'd!
His best endeavours met by mean distrust,
His diligence all damp'd by deep disgust!
Contention strengthening every anxious care,
Till all his hopes were sunk in dark despair!
While 'mid such Scenes, so beauteous and sublime!
His hapless heart, unconscious of a crime,
In melancholy mop'd each passing hour
Beneath hard bondage of oppressive Pow'r;
Denied each dear, and rational, delight,
By groveling Envy, or by grossest Spite!
It might be ask'd whence Envy could proceed,
Or Wealth, and Wit, grudge Ignorance and Need?
How Spite could with such Pow'r and Wisdom dwell?
One cruel Anecdote will, clearly, tell:

In that fair Site, a small sequester'd space,
The tutor'd eye's offence, and Dome's disgrace,
Obscenely squalid, weedy, wild, and waste;
Unfitted for attracting eyes of Taste,
But least the Owner's, when she walk'd that way,
Contiguous to each common Office lay:
Thence did his arm each hateful pest expel,
That in their stead much better births might dwell—
His leisure moments laudable employ,
Offering fair hope, large, unpolluted, joy!
With fostering toil rare flowers and fruits to raise,
Faint semblance of his bliss in brighter days!
Led alpine strawberries rambling runners round,
To glow on every barren blank of ground!
Taught feeble Pinks on friendly props to lean,
And light, with lucid smiles, the cultur'd scene;
To stand, in splendid tufts, on scanty strips,
And pour pure odours from their blushing lips.
Carnations rear'd erect their loftier crest,
In variegated vestments richly drest;
Not from her Garden's gay parterres purloin'd,
But gifts of Friends, benevolent, and kind—
Mixing their scent with minor Sisters, sweet,
Improv'd the pleasure of the rude retreat!
Clear, like the Sun amidst the sapphire skies,
Convolvuluses ope'd their golden eyes;
With their bright beauties greet his morning ray,
But closed for ever, with declining Day!
The evening Primrose, dash'd with dazzling light,
Reserv'd its meeker charms to chear the Night;
But full exposed to face a prying World,
Each veil was folded up—ne'er more unfurl'd!
Stocks perfume spread in many a shining knot—
And Roses blush'd about the puny spot,
With other blooms of different form, and hue,
To charm the smell, and variegate the view;
Whose mingled scents, and animating smiles,
Repay'd his tender cares, and constant toils!

Beauty, alas! tho' simple, sweet, and pure,
In calm retreat ne'er lodges long secure;
Ne'er long escapes the Pilferer's peeping search,
But Fame will babble—Lust will quickly lurch—
Nor can a Parent, or enamour'd Swain,
From Pride and Rapine long such prize retain—
Soon Profligate, or Pimp, the Charmer seize;
No more to prompt the Soul, or Senses please!
Did Honour—Virtue—Riches—partners rare!
With candour court and win the willing Fair,
No honest heart would blame the charming choice;
Nor Envy's self prevent applauding voice—
But when base Malice with bold Lust combin'd,
And each vile Passion that perverts the Mind,
Pride's prompt associates! range the rustic scenes,
And ravish thence rich Nature's comeliest Queens;
Not fixt in bosom, blest, with fond embrace,
True Friend's, or kind Companion's, proper place;
But rank'd with dirty drabs, in ragged gown,
And hawk'd about to every Brute in Town:
Thus fared those flow'rets rear'd by Crispin's hand,
On those poor patches of neglected land;
Which might have pass'd in that impoverish'd state
Till fire had fix'd its everlasting fate,
Had he not lent his labour, with delight,
To stablish beauty on that barren Site—
But soon its charms, its fragrance, or its fame,
Drew the attention of despotic Dame;
Who, his fond hopes, and happiness, to foil,
Resolv'd, in vengeful spite, on ample spoil.

Among the many specious, spurious, ways,
Selfish, and false, for propagating praise;
To serve her cunning, and to save her coin,
Yet make it look like Charity divine,
She schemed to cull, from all her beds and bow'rs,
Superfluous sprays of shrubs, and refuse flowers;
But chiefly gathering from the fragrant groups
That form'd the kitchen-garden's scatter'd troops,
From whence her female artists might compose,
Embellish'd bouquets for each vulgar nose,
In common market sold to compass pence,
Disburs'd in dole as pure Beneficence!

This proffer'd fair pretence for Pow'r and Pride,
With moral mask low, envious, hate to hide;
But the fell features of such Spite and Spleen,
Were fully thro' false Virtue's vizor seen!
She pillag'd all the blooms, both sweet, and fair,
That flower'd, and flourish'd, under Crispin's care;
And, lest a fellow-feeling might restrain
A Servant's grudging palm from giving pain,
She, like herself, perform'd the tragic part,
To plunge her dagger deeper in his heart!

Poor Crispin's loss, in solemn items told,
Was something like the injur'd Chiefs of old,
When Israel's cruel King, in antient times,
By Nature tempted to enormous crimes;
Not with Imp's envy, veil'd by base pretence,
To give a Servant, and a Friend, offence,
But let his graceless Lust and Passion guide
The inborn bent of Appetite and Pride.

Of ample herds and flocks, himself, possest,
A Neighbour's Lamb, companion of his breast,
His sole possession, and his dear delight;
His day's diversion—bosom Friend by night;
Which tender loving-kindness nourish'd up,
With him, each day, to share each cate and cup—
With him still dwelt—partook his choicest chear—
Nurs'd like a Child, a favourite Daughter, dear!
With wanton gambols, frisking, gaily, by,
Had caught the lustful Monarch's leering eye;
And, when wayfaring Friend, with cravings, came,
The Daring Despot, fir'd with selfish flame
Of wild Desire, unworthy of a Throne!
Seiz'd Neighbour's poor Ewe-lamb, and spar'd his own.
So fell poor Crispin's fondly-foster'd blooms,
With all their beauties bland, and pure perfumes!
Not as a prey to pow'rful Appetite,
To furnish food for animal delight—
Not as a sacrifice to fleshly gust,
Or pressing importunities of Lust;
But as the victim of a vicious Mind,
By crafty plans of policy refin'd
Despotic sketch of each polluted Soul
That stoops to Pride's unlimited controul,
And those black Passions that impel the heart
To act a sordid, or satanic part!
But as the Seer, by parable sublime,
Convicted Hebrew King of heinous crime,
So, Conscience, peradventure, soon, or late,
May wound her feelings, or unwind her fate!

The rich Carnations that his care had nurs'd
As Mischief's martyrs fell, her victims, first;
When she, her Friends, with spiteful purpose, led,
To pluck their beauties from their humble bed,
In tyrant triumph on their bosoms borne
To strike the troubled Bard with cruel scorn,

Her's, truly, was the lean uncultur'd soil,
But was not quit-rent paid by care and toil?
Completely paid to Reason, Sense, and Taste,
By forming Eden from a rueful Waste?
Were not carnations—roses—pinks—and stocks,
Better than thistles—nettles—dwale—and docks?
And pleasant odours, where a Lady dwells
More grateful than gross filth, or fetid smells?
Nor could the arbitrary Tyrant trace
Faint right or title to the flowery Race,
For every fragrant, fair, and beauteous, Breed,
Were free donations from a Friend indeed!

Tho' this, a time, could Reason's pow'r controul—
And raise resentment in his suffering Soul,
Still more he suffer'd from the haughty Dame,
When that kind Friend from neighbouring district came
To chear with social chat a happier hour,
While thus a Bond-Slave to such Despot's pow'r;
To draw each sharp-barb'd arrow from his heart,
Fix'd by the Tyrant in that tenderest part;
And spread pure sunshine o'er his troubled breast,
On that sole Day kind Heav'n ordain'd him rest!
When, free from care, he judg'd he might presume,
With such true Friend, to trace the woodland's gloom;
To note the fragrant shrubs, or shining flow'rs,
In variegated groups, or blooming bow'rs—
The velvet verdure, or the brilliant beams,
On polish'd landscapes, or illumin'd streams;
Each fair atchievement of his head, or hand,
Where Diligence preserv'd what Genius plann'd.

Who could conjecture pertinacious Pride,
Had e'er such simple privilege denied?
Who would suppose Hate—Envy—Spleen, and Spite,
Would cheat poor Crispin of such cheap delight?
Would wake the poignant spirit of Chagrin,
With Friend, familiar in those precincts seen,
Where he bestow'd, each day, strength—talents—time,
Could e'er be construed such a serious crime?
Could e'er imagine mad Malevolence,
Caprice, or Pride, would wish to keep them thence?
They only wander'd round the woods, and dells,
To greet their sights, and gratify their smells.
They were not Coxcombs—Savages—or Brutes,
That pillag'd shrubs, and flow'rs, and pilfer'd fruits—
They only read clear labels Heav'n inscribes
On the fair fronts of Nature's tongueless tribes!
Just trac'd the types Heav'n's Pow'r and Wisdom weaves
In all their limbs and features, flow'rs and leaves;
But ne'er to gratify wish—whim—nor rage,
Stole frontispiece, nor tore one title-page.
Just gaz'd upon the paintings God imprints,
But spoil'd no canvas, nor polluted tints—
Explor'd their fair complexions, features, shapes,
But plann'd no plots, nor schemed rude, cruel, rapes—
They only view'd those charms that always lie
Uncover'd, to the ken of every eye—
They only took those tempting spoils as prey,
Which ev'ry passing breeze would waft away;
Or, unobserv'd by human smell, or sight,
Expire, and perish, soon, in endless night!
'Twas tasting luxuries free from care, or cost—
Partaking pleasure, soon for ever lost—
'Twas fairly satisfying twofold Sense,
Without another's, or their own, expence—
Without disbursing Wealth, or burdening Wit—
Mere lighting lamps at those already lit,
Which must consume, continuing still to blaze,
Tho' none would profit by their friendly rays.
The Sun would still diffuse its fulgent beams,
Were all eyes clos'd in dull unconscious dreams—
The Air still offer vivifying breath,
Were all the race of men immerg'd in death—
So would such charms unfold, and yield perfumes,
Were Tyrants all inclos'd in cloister'd tombs.

But ought a Clown, with like Companion, rude,
On Scenes, so sacred, daringly, intrude?
Shall vulgar Ignorance dare those haunts invade
For Knowledge—Learning—Wit—and Wisdom—made?
Shall beastly Boors those hallowed paths explore
Which Taste, and Genius, trod but just before?
Shall Ignorant Penury trace the tracks where Wealth
E'er paced for pleasure, or patroled for Health?
Loath'd Rustics' footsteps thus presume to tread
Where Fame and Fashion, Lords and Ladies, led?
Such swinish nostrils seek to snuff the scent,
Solely for noble Births and Noses meant?
Those various beauties Barbarian eyes view,
To courtly Pomp and Splendour, only due;
And whence the polish'd Mistress hop'd for praise,
From graceful Politesse, at every gaze!

Unwitting Wights! how little did they dream
Such peccadillos would supply a Theme
Whence haughty Despotism could hope to draw
Sufficient sanction for a fiery Law;
Which, tho' fierce wrath that moment might reveal,
Necessity, to-morrow, must repeal!
How little could poor Crispin's Mind surmise
That Pride and Passion, then, should spoil his joys!
How could his honest, simple spirit think,
Amid such pure pursuits, his heart should shrink—
Should suffer lancing looks, and stinging taunts,
For sauntering, on a Sunday, round those haunts;
Relax'd, in those lov'd bow'rs, on Sabbaths, blest,
Where Soul and Body labour'd all the rest!
He ne'er suppos'd his presence could degrade
The shining shrubbery, or the sheltering shade,
Where constant care, and close attendance tied
To toil and study every day beside!
Ne'er judg'd a virtuous Friend could e'er pollute
The untouch'd flow'r, or fair untasted fruit—
Could cloud the Light, or hurt the Atmosphere,
By bathing in the beams, or breathing there,
With Friend, of Soul sublime, and bless'd with Worth;
Possess'd by few that boast their nobler Birth!
He ne'er imagin'd such fair Frame, and Mind,
Could leave a mildew, or a blight, behind!
Ne'er fancied Friendship could impair a Place,
Tho' deem'd important by a pompous Race;
Or Clowns, with sight, or smell, contaminate
Ev'n Scenes most grateful to proud Rich and Great;
Could foul, with frowziness, the pure perfumes,
Or tarnish richest tints of brightest blooms.
He ne'er suspected Innocence could spoil
The perfect purity of sand, or soil—
Hard gravel harm, or vitiate verdant sod,
Where Pomp reposed, or Ostentation trod;
Or pure Simplicity degrade the grove,
Where Affectation—Fashion—Foppery, rove.
He ne'er conceiv'd more mischiefs could arise,
To injure Air, or Light in clearest Skies;
Where temperate Peasants' respirations pass'd
Than where rank Luxury breath'd its tainted blast—
That chaste Plebeian's looks o'er waters, clear,
Could mar them more than Lechers', lounging near—
That kind Complacency, with smile serene,
Could more than Pride's dark frowns infect the Scene,
Or eyes of Meekness Prospect's charms impair
More than mum Grandeur's bluff and brazen glare,
That Christians could defile the fairest Seat,
Where Infidels e'er form'd their dull Retreat;
That Health would check the Grove's, or Copse's growth,
More than fumes of foul Disease and sordid Sloth;
Or Thanks and Praise the Lawn or Woodland stain,
Like Flattery's lies and compliments profane!