The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son. In eight volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe |  |
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OCCASIONAL PIECES.
[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]
99
THE LADIES OF THE LAKE.
WRITTEN ON VISITING NORMANSTON IN THE YEAR 1785.
Shall I, who oft have woo'd the Muse
For gentle Ladies' sake,
So fair a theme as this refuse—
The Ladies of the Lake?
For gentle Ladies' sake,
So fair a theme as this refuse—
The Ladies of the Lake?
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Hail, happy pair! 't is yours to share
Life's elegance and ease;
The bliss of wealth without the care,
The will and power to please,—
Life's elegance and ease;
The bliss of wealth without the care,
The will and power to please,—
To please, but not alone our eyes,
Nor yet alone our mind;
Your taste, your goodness, charm the wise—
Your manners all mankind.
Nor yet alone our mind;
Your taste, your goodness, charm the wise—
Your manners all mankind.
The pleasant scenes that round you glow,
Like caskets fraught with gold,
Though beauteous in themselves, yet owe
Their worth to what they hold.
Like caskets fraught with gold,
Though beauteous in themselves, yet owe
Their worth to what they hold.
Trees may be found, and lakes, as fair;
Fresh lawns, and gardens green;
But where again the Sister-pair
Who animate the scene?
Fresh lawns, and gardens green;
But where again the Sister-pair
Who animate the scene?
Where sense of that superior kind,
Without man's haughty air?
And where, without the trifling mind,
The softness of the fair?
Without man's haughty air?
And where, without the trifling mind,
The softness of the fair?
Folly, with wealth, may idly raise
Her hopes to shine like you,
And humble flattery sound her praise,
Till she believes it true;
Her hopes to shine like you,
And humble flattery sound her praise,
Till she believes it true;
But wealth no more can give that grace
To souls of meaner kind,
Than summer's fiery sun can chase
Their darkness from the blind.
To souls of meaner kind,
Than summer's fiery sun can chase
Their darkness from the blind.
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But drop, you'll say, the useless pen:
Reluctant—I obey,
Yet let me take it once again,
If not to praise, to pray
Reluctant—I obey,
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
The Ladies of the Lake.
This poor attempt to take,
And I may oft behold again
The Ladies of the Lake.
INFANCY—A FRAGMENT.
Who on the new-born light can back return,
And the first efforts of the soul discern—
Waked by some sweet maternal smile, no more
To sleep so long or fondly as before?
No! Memory cannot reach, with all her power,
To that new birth, that life-awakening hour.
No! all the traces of her first employ
Are keen perceptions of the senses' joy,
And their distaste—what then could they impart?—
That figs were luscious, and that rods had smart.
And the first efforts of the soul discern—
Waked by some sweet maternal smile, no more
To sleep so long or fondly as before?
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To that new birth, that life-awakening hour.
No! all the traces of her first employ
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
Recalls the dawn and twilight of her day,
And thus encounters, in the doubtful view,
With imperfection and distortion too;
Can she not tell us, as she looks around,
Of good and evil, which the most abound?
Recalls the dawn and twilight of her day,
And thus encounters, in the doubtful view,
With imperfection and distortion too;
Can she not tell us, as she looks around,
Of good and evil, which the most abound?
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:
For what is Pleasure, that we toil to gain?
'T is but the slow or rapid flight of Pain.
Set Pleasure by, and there would yet remain,
For every nerve and sense the sting of Pain:
Set Pain aside, and fear no more the sting,
And whence your hopes and pleasures can ye bring?
No! there is not a joy beneath the skies,
That from no grief nor trouble shall arise.
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:
For what is Pleasure, that we toil to gain?
'T is but the slow or rapid flight of Pain.
Set Pleasure by, and there would yet remain,
For every nerve and sense the sting of Pain:
Set Pain aside, and fear no more the sting,
And whence your hopes and pleasures can ye bring?
No! there is not a joy beneath the skies,
That from no grief nor trouble shall arise.
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
That her sweet smile alone can yield relief.
Why, then, that smile is Pleasure:—True, yet still
'T is but the absence of the former ill:
For, married, soon at will he comes and goes;
Then pleasures die, and pains become repose,
And he has none of these, and therefore none of those.
To his dear mistress?—He shall show us why:—
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That her sweet smile alone can yield relief.
Why, then, that smile is Pleasure:—True, yet still
'T is but the absence of the former ill:
For, married, soon at will he comes and goes;
Then pleasures die, and pains become repose,
And he has none of these, and therefore none of those.
Yes! looking back as early as I can,
I see the griefs that seize their subject Man,
That in the weeping Child their early reign began:
Yes! though Pain softens, and is absent since,
He still controls me like my lawful prince.
Joys I remember, like phosphoric light
Or squibs and crackers on a gala night.
Joys are like oil; if thrown upon the tide
Of flowing life, they mix not, nor subside:
Griefs are like waters on the river thrown,
They mix entirely, and become its own.
Of all the good that grew of early date,
I can but parts and incidents relate:
A guest arriving, or a borrow'd day
From school, or schoolboy triumph at some play:
And these from Pain may be deduced; for these
Removed some ill, and hence their power to please.
I see the griefs that seize their subject Man,
That in the weeping Child their early reign began:
Yes! though Pain softens, and is absent since,
He still controls me like my lawful prince.
Joys I remember, like phosphoric light
Or squibs and crackers on a gala night.
Joys are like oil; if thrown upon the tide
Of flowing life, they mix not, nor subside:
Griefs are like waters on the river thrown,
They mix entirely, and become its own.
Of all the good that grew of early date,
I can but parts and incidents relate:
A guest arriving, or a borrow'd day
From school, or schoolboy triumph at some play:
And these from Pain may be deduced; for these
Removed some ill, and hence their power to please.
But it was Misery stung me in the day
Death of an infant sister made a prey;
For then first met and moved my early fears,
A father's terrors, and a mother's tears.
Though greater anguish I have since endured,—
Some heal'd in part, some never to be cured;
Yet was there something in that first-born ill,
So new, so strange, that memory feels it still!
Death of an infant sister made a prey;
For then first met and moved my early fears,
A father's terrors, and a mother's tears.
Though greater anguish I have since endured,—
Some heal'd in part, some never to be cured;
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So new, so strange, that memory feels it still!
That my first grief: but, oh! in after-years
Were other deaths, that call'd for other tears.
No! that I cannot, that I dare not, paint—
That patient sufferer, that enduring saint,
Holy and lovely—but all words are faint.
But here I dwell not—let me, while I can,
Go to the Child, and lose the suffering Man.
Were other deaths, that call'd for other tears.
No! that I cannot, that I dare not, paint—
That patient sufferer, that enduring saint,
Holy and lovely—but all words are faint.
But here I dwell not—let me, while I can,
Go to the Child, and lose the suffering Man.
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.
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,
To my young sense, as sings the nightingale.
Without was paradise—because within
Was a keen relish, without taint of sin.
To my young sense, as sings the nightingale.
Without was paradise—because within
Was a keen relish, without taint of sin.
A town appear'd,—and where an infant went,
Could they determine, on themselves intent?
I lost my way, and my companions me,
And all, their comforts and tranquillity.
Mid-day it was, and, as the sun declined,
The good, found early, I no more could find:
The men drank much, to whet the appetite;
And, growing heavy, drank to make them light;
Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite.
Their cheerfulness did but a moment last;
Something fell short, or something overpast.
The lads play'd idly with the helm and oar,
And nervous women would be set on shore,
Till “civil dudgeon” grew, and peace would smile no more.
Could they determine, on themselves intent?
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And all, their comforts and tranquillity.
Mid-day it was, and, as the sun declined,
The good, found early, I no more could find:
The men drank much, to whet the appetite;
And, growing heavy, drank to make them light;
Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite.
Their cheerfulness did but a moment last;
Something fell short, or something overpast.
The lads play'd idly with the helm and oar,
And nervous women would be set on shore,
Till “civil dudgeon” grew, and peace would smile no more.
Now on the colder water faintly shone
The sloping light—the cheerful day was gone;
Frown'd every cloud, and from the gather'd frown
The thunder burst, and rain came pattering down.
My torpid senses now my fears obey'd,
When the fierce lightning on the eye-balls play'd.
Now, all the freshness of the morning fled,
My spirits burden'd, and my heart was dead;
The female servants show'd a child their fear,
And men, full wearied, wanted strength to cheer;
And when, at length, the dreaded storm went past,
And there was peace and quietness at last,
'Twas not the morning's quiet—it was not
Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot:
It was not Joy that now commenced her reign,
But mere relief from wretchedness and Pain.
The sloping light—the cheerful day was gone;
Frown'd every cloud, and from the gather'd frown
The thunder burst, and rain came pattering down.
My torpid senses now my fears obey'd,
When the fierce lightning on the eye-balls play'd.
Now, all the freshness of the morning fled,
My spirits burden'd, and my heart was dead;
The female servants show'd a child their fear,
And men, full wearied, wanted strength to cheer;
And when, at length, the dreaded storm went past,
And there was peace and quietness at last,
'Twas not the morning's quiet—it was not
Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot:
It was not Joy that now commenced her reign,
But mere relief from wretchedness and Pain.
106
So many a day, in life's advance, I knew;
So they commenced, and so they ended too.
All Promise they—all Joy as they began!
But Joy grew less, and vanish'd as they ran!
Errors and evils came in many a form,—
The mind's delusion, and the passions' storm.
So they commenced, and so they ended too.
All Promise they—all Joy as they began!
But Joy grew less, and vanish'd as they ran!
Errors and evils came in many a form,—
The mind's delusion, and the passions' storm.
The promised joy, that like this morning rose,
Broke on my view, then clouded at its close;
E'en Love himself, that promiser of bliss,
Made his best days of pleasure end like this:
He mix'd his bitters in the cup of joy
Nor gave a bliss uninjured by alloy.
Broke on my view, then clouded at its close;
E'en Love himself, that promiser of bliss,
Made his best days of pleasure end like this:
He mix'd his bitters in the cup of joy
Nor gave a bliss uninjured by alloy.
THE MAGNET.
Why force the backward heart on love,
That of itself the flame might feel?
When you the Magnet's power would prove,
Say, would you strike it on the Steel?
That of itself the flame might feel?
When you the Magnet's power would prove,
Say, would you strike it on the Steel?
From common flints you may by force
Excite some transient sparks of fire;
And so, in natures rude and coarse,
Compulsion may provoke desire.
Excite some transient sparks of fire;
And so, in natures rude and coarse,
Compulsion may provoke desire.
But when, approaching by degrees,
The Magnet to the Steel draws nigh,
At once they feel, each other seize,
And rest in mutual sympathy.
The Magnet to the Steel draws nigh,
At once they feel, each other seize,
And rest in mutual sympathy.
107
So must the Lover find his way
To move the heart he hopes to win—
Must not in distant forms delay—
Must not in rude assaults begin.
To move the heart he hopes to win—
Must not in distant forms delay—
Must not in rude assaults begin.
For such attractive power has Love,
We justly each extreme may fear:
'T is lost when we too distant prove,
And when we rashly press too near.
We justly each extreme may fear:
'T is lost when we too distant prove,
And when we rashly press too near.
STORM AND CALM.
[FROM THE ALBUM OF THE DUCHESS OF RUTLAND.]
At sea when threatening tempests rise,
When angry winds the waves deform,
The seaman lifts to Heaven his eyes,
And deprecates the dreaded storm.
“Ye furious powers, no more contend;
“Ye winds and seas, your conflict end;
“And on the mild subsiding deep,
“Let Fear repose and Terror sleep!”
When angry winds the waves deform,
The seaman lifts to Heaven his eyes,
And deprecates the dreaded storm.
“Ye furious powers, no more contend;
“Ye winds and seas, your conflict end;
“And on the mild subsiding deep,
“Let Fear repose and Terror sleep!”
At length the waves are hush'd in peace,
O'er flying clouds the sun prevails;
The weary winds their efforts cease,
And fill no more the flagging sails;
Fix'd to the deep the vessel rides
Obedient to the changing tides;
No helm she feels, no course she keeps,
But on the liquid marble sleeps.
O'er flying clouds the sun prevails;
The weary winds their efforts cease,
And fill no more the flagging sails;
Fix'd to the deep the vessel rides
Obedient to the changing tides;
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But on the liquid marble sleeps.
Sick of a Calm the sailor lies,
And views the still, reflecting seas;
Or, whistling to the burning skies,
He hopes to wake the slumbering breeze:
The silent noon, the solemn night,
The same dull round of thoughts excite,
Till, tired of the revolving train,
He wishes for the Storm again.
And views the still, reflecting seas;
Or, whistling to the burning skies,
He hopes to wake the slumbering breeze:
The silent noon, the solemn night,
The same dull round of thoughts excite,
Till, tired of the revolving train,
He wishes for the Storm again.
Thus, when I felt the force of Love,
When all the passion fill'd my breast,—
When, trembling, with the storm I strove,
And pray'd, but vainly pray'd, for rest;
'T was tempest all, a dreadful strife
For ease, for joy, for more than life:
'T was every hour to groan and sigh
In grief, in fear, in jealousy.
When all the passion fill'd my breast,—
When, trembling, with the storm I strove,
And pray'd, but vainly pray'd, for rest;
'T was tempest all, a dreadful strife
For ease, for joy, for more than life:
'T was every hour to groan and sigh
In grief, in fear, in jealousy.
I suffer'd much, but found at length
Composure in my wounded heart;
The mind attain'd its former strength,
And bade the lingering hopes depart;
Then Beauty smiled, and I was gay,
I view'd her as the cheerful day;
And if she frown'd, the clouded sky
Had greater terrors for mine eye.
Composure in my wounded heart;
The mind attain'd its former strength,
And bade the lingering hopes depart;
Then Beauty smiled, and I was gay,
I view'd her as the cheerful day;
And if she frown'd, the clouded sky
Had greater terrors for mine eye.
I slept, I waked, and, morn and eve,
The noon, the night appear'd the same;
No thought arose the soul to grieve,
To me no thought of pleasure came;
Doom'd the dull comforts to receive
Of wearied passions still and tame.—
“Alas!” I cried, when years had flown—
“Must no awakening joy be known?
“Must never Hope's inspiring breeze
“Sweep off this dull and torpid ease—
“Must never Love's all-cheering ray
“Upon the frozen fancy play—
“Unless they seize the passive soul,
“And with resistless power control?
“Then let me all their force sustain,
“And bring me back the Storm again.”
The noon, the night appear'd the same;
109
To me no thought of pleasure came;
Doom'd the dull comforts to receive
Of wearied passions still and tame.—
“Alas!” I cried, when years had flown—
“Must no awakening joy be known?
“Must never Hope's inspiring breeze
“Sweep off this dull and torpid ease—
“Must never Love's all-cheering ray
“Upon the frozen fancy play—
“Unless they seize the passive soul,
“And with resistless power control?
“Then let me all their force sustain,
“And bring me back the Storm again.”
SATIRE.
I love not the satiric Muse:
No man on earth would I abuse;
Nor with empoison'd verses grieve
The most offending son of Eve.
Leave him to law, if he have done
What injures any other son:
It hardens man to see his name
Exposed to public mirth or shame;
And rouses, as it spoils his rest,
The baser passions of his breast.
No man on earth would I abuse;
Nor with empoison'd verses grieve
The most offending son of Eve.
Leave him to law, if he have done
What injures any other son:
It hardens man to see his name
Exposed to public mirth or shame;
And rouses, as it spoils his rest,
The baser passions of his breast.
110
Attack a book—attack a song—
You will not do essential wrong;
You may their blemishes expose,
And yet not be the writer's foes.
But when the man you thus attack,
And him expose with critic art,
You put a creature to the rack—
You wring, you agonise, his heart.
No farther honest Satire can
In all her enmity proceed,
Than passing by the wicked Man,
To execrate the wicked Deed.
You will not do essential wrong;
You may their blemishes expose,
And yet not be the writer's foes.
But when the man you thus attack,
And him expose with critic art,
You put a creature to the rack—
You wring, you agonise, his heart.
No farther honest Satire can
In all her enmity proceed,
Than passing by the wicked Man,
To execrate the wicked Deed.
If so much virtue yet remain
That he would feel the sting and pain,
That virtue is a reason why
The Muse her sting should not apply:
If no such Virtue yet survive,
What is your angry Satire worth,
But to arouse the sleeping hive,
And send the raging Passions forth,
In bold, vindictive, angry flight,
To sting wherever they alight?
That he would feel the sting and pain,
That virtue is a reason why
The Muse her sting should not apply:
If no such Virtue yet survive,
What is your angry Satire worth,
But to arouse the sleeping hive,
And send the raging Passions forth,
In bold, vindictive, angry flight,
To sting wherever they alight?
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BELVOIR CASTLE.
[WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE DUCHESS DOWAGER OF RUTLAND, AND INSCRIBED IN HER ALBUM, 1812.]
When native Britons British lands possess'd,
Their glory freedom—and their blessing rest—
A powerful chief this lofty Seat survey'd,
And here his mansion's strong foundation laid:
In his own ground the massy stone he sought,
From his own woods the rugged timbers brought;
Rudeness and greatness in his work combined,—
An humble taste with an aspiring mind.
His herds the vale, his flocks the hills, o'erspread;
Warriors and vassals at his table fed;
Sons, kindred, servants, waited on his will,
And hail'd his mansion on the mighty hill.
Their glory freedom—and their blessing rest—
A powerful chief this lofty Seat survey'd,
And here his mansion's strong foundation laid:
In his own ground the massy stone he sought,
From his own woods the rugged timbers brought;
Rudeness and greatness in his work combined,—
An humble taste with an aspiring mind.
His herds the vale, his flocks the hills, o'erspread;
Warriors and vassals at his table fed;
Sons, kindred, servants, waited on his will,
And hail'd his mansion on the mighty hill.
In a new age a Saxon Lord appear'd,
And on the lofty base his dwelling rear'd:
Then first the grand but threatening form was known,
And to the subject-vale a Castle shown,
Where strength alone appear'd,—the gloomy wall
Enclosed the dark recess, the frowning hall;
In chilling rooms the sullen fagot gleam'd;
On the rude board the common banquet steam'd;
Astonish'd peasants fear'd the dreadful skill
That placed such wonders on their favourite hill:
The soldier praised it as he march'd around,
And the dark building o'er the valley frown'd.
And on the lofty base his dwelling rear'd:
Then first the grand but threatening form was known,
And to the subject-vale a Castle shown,
Where strength alone appear'd,—the gloomy wall
Enclosed the dark recess, the frowning hall;
In chilling rooms the sullen fagot gleam'd;
On the rude board the common banquet steam'd;
Astonish'd peasants fear'd the dreadful skill
That placed such wonders on their favourite hill:
The soldier praised it as he march'd around,
And the dark building o'er the valley frown'd.
112
A Norman Baron, in succeeding times,
Here, while the minstrel sang heroic rhymes,
In feudal pomp appear'd. It was his praise
A loftier dome with happier skill to raise;
His halls, still gloomy, yet with grandeur rose;
Here friends were feasted,—here confined were foes.
In distant chambers, with her female train,
Dwelt the fair partner of his awful reign:
Curb'd by no laws, his vassal-tribe he sway'd,—
The Lord commanded, and the slave obey'd:
No soft'ning arts in those fierce times were found,
But rival Barons spread their terrors round;
Each, in the fortress of his power, secure,
Of foes was fearless, and of soldiers sure;
And here the chieftain, for his prowess praised,
Long held the Castle that his might had raised.
Here, while the minstrel sang heroic rhymes,
In feudal pomp appear'd. It was his praise
A loftier dome with happier skill to raise;
His halls, still gloomy, yet with grandeur rose;
Here friends were feasted,—here confined were foes.
In distant chambers, with her female train,
Dwelt the fair partner of his awful reign:
Curb'd by no laws, his vassal-tribe he sway'd,—
The Lord commanded, and the slave obey'd:
No soft'ning arts in those fierce times were found,
But rival Barons spread their terrors round;
Each, in the fortress of his power, secure,
Of foes was fearless, and of soldiers sure;
And here the chieftain, for his prowess praised,
Long held the Castle that his might had raised.
Came gentler times:—the Barons ceased to strive
With kingly power, yet felt their pomp survive;
Impell'd by softening arts, by honour charm'd,
Fair ladies studied and brave heroes arm'd.
The Lord of Belvoir then his Castle view'd,
Strong without form, and dignified but rude;
The dark long passage, and the chambers small,
Recess and secret hold, he banish'd all,
Took the rude gloom and terror from the place,
And bade it shine with majesty and grace.
With kingly power, yet felt their pomp survive;
Impell'd by softening arts, by honour charm'd,
Fair ladies studied and brave heroes arm'd.
The Lord of Belvoir then his Castle view'd,
Strong without form, and dignified but rude;
The dark long passage, and the chambers small,
Recess and secret hold, he banish'd all,
Took the rude gloom and terror from the place,
And bade it shine with majesty and grace.
Then arras first o'er rugged walls appear'd,
Bright lamps at eve the vast apartment cheer'd;
In each superior room were polish'd floors,
Tall ponderous beds, and vast cathedral doors:
All was improved within, and then below
Fruits of the hardier climes were taught to grow;
The silver flagon on the table stood,
And to the vassal left the horn and wood.
Dress'd in his liveries, of his honours vain,
Came at the Baron's call a menial train;
Proud of their arms, his strength and their delight;
Loud in the feast, and fearless in the fight.
Bright lamps at eve the vast apartment cheer'd;
113
Tall ponderous beds, and vast cathedral doors:
All was improved within, and then below
Fruits of the hardier climes were taught to grow;
The silver flagon on the table stood,
And to the vassal left the horn and wood.
Dress'd in his liveries, of his honours vain,
Came at the Baron's call a menial train;
Proud of their arms, his strength and their delight;
Loud in the feast, and fearless in the fight.
Then every eye the stately fabric drew
To every part; for all were fair to view:
The powerful chief the far-famed work descried,
And heard the public voice that waked his pride.
Pleased he began—“About, above, below,
“What more can wealth command, or science show?
“Here taste and grandeur join with massy strength;
“Slow comes perfection, but it comes at length.
“Still must I grieve: these halls and towers sublime,
“Like vulgar domes, must feel the force of time;
“And, when decay'd, can future days repair
“What I in these have made so strong and fair?
“My future heirs shall want of power deplore,
“When Time destroys what Time can not restore.”
To every part; for all were fair to view:
The powerful chief the far-famed work descried,
And heard the public voice that waked his pride.
Pleased he began—“About, above, below,
“What more can wealth command, or science show?
“Here taste and grandeur join with massy strength;
“Slow comes perfection, but it comes at length.
“Still must I grieve: these halls and towers sublime,
“Like vulgar domes, must feel the force of time;
“And, when decay'd, can future days repair
“What I in these have made so strong and fair?
“My future heirs shall want of power deplore,
“When Time destroys what Time can not restore.”
Sad in his glory, serious in his pride,
At once the chief exulted and he sigh'd;
Dreaming he sigh'd, and still, in sleep profound,
His thoughts were fix'd within the favourite bound;
When lo! another Castle rose in view,
That in an instant all his pride o'erthrew.
In that he saw what massy strength bestows,
And what from grace and lighter beauty flows,
Yet all harmonious; what was light and free,
Robb'd not the weightier parts of dignity—
Nor what was ponderous hid the work of grace,
But all were just, and all in proper place:
Terrace on terrace rose, and there was seen
Adorn'd with flowery knolls the sloping green,
Bounded by balmy shrubs from climes unknown,
And all the nobler trees that grace our own.
At once the chief exulted and he sigh'd;
Dreaming he sigh'd, and still, in sleep profound,
His thoughts were fix'd within the favourite bound;
When lo! another Castle rose in view,
That in an instant all his pride o'erthrew.
114
And what from grace and lighter beauty flows,
Yet all harmonious; what was light and free,
Robb'd not the weightier parts of dignity—
Nor what was ponderous hid the work of grace,
But all were just, and all in proper place:
Terrace on terrace rose, and there was seen
Adorn'd with flowery knolls the sloping green,
Bounded by balmy shrubs from climes unknown,
And all the nobler trees that grace our own.
Above, he saw a giant-tower ascend,
That seem'd the neighbouring beauty to defend
Of some light graceful dome,—“And this,” he cried,
“Awakes my pleasure, though it wounds my pride.”
He saw apartments where appear'd to rise
What seem'd as men, and fix'd on him their eyes,—
Pictures that spoke; and there were mirrors tall,
Doubling each wonder by reflecting all.
He saw the genial board, the massy plate,
Grace unaffected, unencumber'd state;
And something reach'd him of the social arts,
That soften manners, and that conquer hearts.
That seem'd the neighbouring beauty to defend
Of some light graceful dome,—“And this,” he cried,
“Awakes my pleasure, though it wounds my pride.”
He saw apartments where appear'd to rise
What seem'd as men, and fix'd on him their eyes,—
Pictures that spoke; and there were mirrors tall,
Doubling each wonder by reflecting all.
He saw the genial board, the massy plate,
Grace unaffected, unencumber'd state;
And something reach'd him of the social arts,
That soften manners, and that conquer hearts.
Wrapt in amazement, as he gazed he saw
A form of heav'nly kind, and bow'd in awe:
The spirit view'd him with benignant grace,
And styled himself the Genius of the Place.
“Gaze, and be glad!” he cried, “for this, indeed,
“Is the fair Seat that shall to thine succeed,
“When these famed kingdoms shall as sisters be,
“And one great sovereign rule the powerful three:
“Then yon rich Vale, far stretching to the west,
“Beyond thy bound, shall be by one possess'd:
“Then shall true grace and dignity accord—
“With splendour, ease—the Castle with its Lord.”
A form of heav'nly kind, and bow'd in awe:
The spirit view'd him with benignant grace,
And styled himself the Genius of the Place.
“Gaze, and be glad!” he cried, “for this, indeed,
“Is the fair Seat that shall to thine succeed,
115
“And one great sovereign rule the powerful three:
“Then yon rich Vale, far stretching to the west,
“Beyond thy bound, shall be by one possess'd:
“Then shall true grace and dignity accord—
“With splendour, ease—the Castle with its Lord.”
The Baron waked,—“It was,” he cried, “a view
“Lively as truth, and I will think it true:
“Some gentle spirit to my mind has brought
“Forms of fair works to be hereafter wrought;
“But yet of mine a part will then remain,
“Nor will that Lord its humbler worth disdain;
“Mix'd with his mightier pile shall mine be found,
“By him protected, and with his renown'd;
“He who its full destruction could command,
“A part shall save from the destroying hand,
“And say, ‘It long has stood,—still honour'd let it stand.’”
“Lively as truth, and I will think it true:
“Some gentle spirit to my mind has brought
“Forms of fair works to be hereafter wrought;
“But yet of mine a part will then remain,
“Nor will that Lord its humbler worth disdain;
“Mix'd with his mightier pile shall mine be found,
“By him protected, and with his renown'd;
“He who its full destruction could command,
“A part shall save from the destroying hand,
“And say, ‘It long has stood,—still honour'd let it stand.’”
116
THE WORLD OF DREAMS.
I
And is thy soul so wrapt in sleep?Thy senses, thy affections, fled?
No play of fancy thine, to keep
Oblivion from that grave, thy bed?
Then art thou but the breathing dead:
I envy, but I pity too:
The bravest may my terrors dread,
The happiest fain my joys pursue.
II
Soon as the real World I lose,Quick Fancy takes her wonted way,
Or Baxter's sprites my soul abuse—
For how it is I cannot say,
Nor to what powers a passive prey,
I feel such bliss, I fear such pain;
But all is gloom, or all is gay,
Soon as th' ideal World I gain.
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III
Come, then, I woo thee, sacred Sleep!Vain troubles of the world, farewell!
Spirits of Ill! your distance keep—
And in your own dominions dwell,
Ye, the sad emigrants from hell!
Watch, dear seraphic beings, round,
And these black Enemies repel;
Safe be my soul, my slumbers sound!
IV
In vain I pray! It is my sinThat thus admits the shadowy throng.
Oh! now they break tumultuous in—
Angels of darkness fierce and strong.
Oh! I am borne of fate along;
My soul, subdued, admits the foe,
Perceives and yet endures the wrong,
Resists, and yet prepares to go.
V
Where am I now? and what to meet?Where I have been entrapt before:
The wicked city's vilest street,—
I know what I must now explore.
The dark-brow'd throng more near and more,
With murderous looks are on me thrust,
And lo! they ope the accursed door,
And I must go—I know I must!
118
VI
That female fiend!—Why is she there?Alas! I know her.—Oh, begone!
Why is that tainted bosom bare,
Why fix'd on me that eye of stone?
Why have they left us thus alone?
I saw the deed—why then appear?
Thou art not form'd of blood and bone!
Come not, dread being, come not near!
VII
So! all is quiet, calm, serene;I walk a noble mansion round—
From room to room, from scene to scene,
I breathless pass, in gloom profound:
No human shape, no mortal sound—
I feel an awe, I own a dread,
And still proceed!—nor stop nor bound—
And all is silent, all is dead.
VIII
Now I'm hurried, borne along,All is business! all alive!
Heavens! how mighty is the throng,
Voices humming like a hive!
Through the swelling crowd I strive,
Bustling forth my way to trace:
Never fated to arrive
At the still-expected place.
119
IX
Ah me! how sweet the morning sunDeigns on yon sleepy town to shine!
How soft those far-off rivers run—
Those trees their leafy heads decline!
Balm-breathing zephyrs, all divine,
Their health-imparting influence give:
Now, all that earth allows is mine—
Now, now I dream not, but I live.
X
My friend, my brother, lost in youth,I meet in doubtful, glad surprise,
In conscious love, in fearless truth:
What pleasures in the meeting rise!
Ah! brief enjoyment!—Pleasure dies
E'en in its birth, and turns to pain:
He meets me with hard glazed eyes!
He quits me—spurns me—with disdain.
XI
I sail the sea, I walk the land;In all the world am I alone:
Silent I pace the sea-worn sand,
Silent I view the princely throne;
I listen heartless for the tone
Of winds and waters, but in vain;
Creation dies without a groan!
And I without a hope remain!
120
XII
Unnumber'd riches I behold,Glories untasted I survey:
My heart is sick, my bosom cold,
Friends! neighbours! kindred! where are they?
In the sad, last, long, endless day!
When I can neither pray nor weep,
Doom'd o'er the sleeping world to stray,
And not to die, and not to sleep.
XIII
Beside the summer sea I stand,Where the slow billows swelling shine:
How beautiful this pearly sand,
That waves, and winds, and years refine:
Be this delicious quiet mine!
The joy of youth! so sweet before,
When I could thus my frame recline,
And watch th' entangled weeds ashore.
XIV
Yet, I remember not that sea,That other shore on yonder side:
Between them narrow bound must be,
If equal rise the' opposing tide—
Lo! lo! they rise—and I abide
The peril of the meeting flood:
Away, away, my footsteps slide—
I pant upon the clinging mud!
121
XV
Oh let me now possession takeOf this—it cannot be a dream.
Yes! now the soul must be awake—
These pleasures are—they do not seem.
And is it true? Oh joy extreme!
All whom I loved, and thought them dead,
Far down in Lethe's flowing stream,
And, with them, life's best pleasures fled:
XVI
Yes, many a tear for them I shed—Tears that relieve the anxious breast;
And now, by heavenly favour led,
We meet—and One, the fairest, best,
Among them—ever-welcome guest!
Within the room, that seem'd destroy'd—
This room endear'd, and still possess'd,
By this dear party still enjoy'd.
XVII
Speak to me! speak! that I may knowI am thus happy!—dearest, speak!
Those smiles that haunt fond memory show!
Joy makes us doubtful, wavering, weak;
But yet 'tis joy—And all I seek
Is mine! What glorious day is this!
Now let me bear with spirit meek
An hour of pure and perfect bliss.
122
XVIII
But do ye look indeed as friends?Is there no change? Are not ye cold?
Oh! I do dread that Fortune lends
Fictitious good!—that I behold,
To lose, these treasures, which of old
Were all my glory, all my pride:
May not these arms that form infold?
Is all affection asks denied?
XIX
Say, what is this?—How are we tried,In this sad world!—I know not these—
All strangers, none to me allied—
Those aspects blood and spirit freeze:
Dear forms, my wandering judgment spare;
And thou, most dear, these fiends disarm,
Resume thy wonted looks and air,
And break this melancholy charm.
XX
And are they vanish'd? Is she lost?Shall never day that form restore?
Oh! I am all by fears engross'd;
Sad truth has broken in once more,
And I the brief delight deplore:
How durst they such resemblance take?
Heavens! with what grace the mask they wore!
Oh, from what visions I awake!
123
XXI
Once more, once more upon the shore!Now back the rolling ocean flows:
The rocky bed now far before
On the receding water grows—
The treasures and the wealth it owes
To human misery—all in view;
Fate all on me at once bestows,
From thousands robb'd and murder'd too.
XXII
But, lo! whatever I can findGrows mean and worthless as I view:
They promise, but they cheat the mind,
As promises are born to do:
How lovely every form and hue,
Till seized and master'd—Then arise,
For all that admiration drew,
All that our senses can despise!
XXIII
Within the basis of a tower,I saw a plant—it graced the spot;
There was within nor wind nor shower,
And this had life that flowers have not.
I drew it forth—Ah, luckless lot!
It was the mandrake; and the sound
Of anguish deeply smother'd shot
Into my breast with pang profound.
124
XXIV
“I would I were a soaring bird,”Said Folly, “and I then would fly:”
Some mocking Muse or Fairy heard—
“You can but fall—suppose you try?
And though you may not mount the sky,
You will not grovel in the mire.”
Hail, words of comfort! Now can I
Spurn earth, and to the air aspire.
XXV
And this, before, might I have doneIf I had courage—that is all:
'T is easier now to soar than run;
Up! up!—we neither tire nor fall.
Children of dust, be yours to crawl
On the vile earth!—while, happier, I
Must listen to an inward call,
That bids me mount, that makes me fly.
XXVI
I tumble from the loftiest tower,Yet evil have I never found;
Supported by some favouring power,
I come in safety to the ground.
I rest upon the sea, the sound
Of many waters in mine ear,
Yet have no dread of being drown'd,
But see my way, and cease to fear.
125
XXVII
Awake, there is no living manWho may my fixed spirit shake;
But, sleeping, there is one who can,
And oft does he the trial make:
Against his might resolves I take,
And him oppose with high disdain;
But quickly all my powers forsake
My mind, and I resume my chain.
XXVIII
I know not how, but I am broughtInto a large and Gothic hall,
Seated with those I never sought—
Kings, Caliphs, Kaisers,—silent all;
Pale as the dead; enrobed and tall,
Majestic, frozen, solemn, still;
They wake my fears, my wits appal,
And with both scorn and terror fill.
XXIX
Now are they seated at a boardIn that cold grandeur—I am there.
But what can mummied kings afford?
This is their meagre ghostly fare,
And proves what fleshless things they stare!
Yes! I am seated with the dead:
How great, and yet how mean they are
Yes! I can scorn them while I dread.
126
XXX
They're gone!—and in their room I seeA fairy being, form and dress
Brilliant as light; nor can there be
On earth that heavenly loveliness;
Nor words can that sweet look express,
Or tell what living gems adorn
That wond'rous beauty: who can guess
Where such celestial charms were born?
XXXI
Yet, as I wonder and admire,The grace is gone, the glory dead;
And now it is but mean attire
Upon a shrivel'd beldame spread,
Laid loathsome on a pauper's bed,
Where wretchedness and woe are found,
And the faint putrid odour shed
By all that's foul and base around!
XXXII
A garden this? oh! lovely breeze!Oh! flowers that with such freshness bloom!—
Flowers shall I call such forms as these,
Or this delicious air perfume?
Oh! this from better worlds must come;
On earth such beauty who can meet?
No! this is not the native home
Of things so pure, so bright, so sweet!
127
XXXIII
Where? where?—am I reduced to this—Thus sunk in poverty extreme?
Can I not these vile things dismiss?
No! they are things that more than seem:
This room with that cross-parting beam
Holds yonder squalid tribe and me—
But they were ever thus, nor dream
Of being wealthy, favour'd, free!—
XXXIV
Shall I a coat and badge receive,And sit among these crippled men,
And not go forth without the leave
Of him—and ask it humbly then—
Who reigns in this infernal den—
Where all beside in woe repine?
Yes, yes, I must: nor tongue nor pen
Can paint such misery as mine!
XXXV
Wretches! if ye were only poor,You would my sympathy engage;
Or were ye vicious, and no more,
I might be fill'd with manly rage;
Or had ye patience, wise and sage
We might such worthy sufferers call:
But ye are birds that suit your cage—
Poor, vile, impatient, worthless all!
128
XXXVI
How came I hither? Oh, that Hag!'T is she the enchanting spell prepares;
By cruel witchcraft she can drag
My struggling being in her snares:
Oh, how triumphantly she glares!
But yet would leave me, could I make
Strong effort to subdue my cares.—
'T is made!—and I to Freedom wake!
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |