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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| II. |
 | III, IV, V. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
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| VI, VII. |
| VIII. |
 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe |  |
C.—
D.—
With some you may succeed
By such bold strokes; but they must love indeed.
C.—
Doubt you his passion?—
D.—
C.—
“As people ought to spend.
“And, sir, if you of some divine would ask
“Aid in your doubts, it were a happy task;
“But you, alas! the while, are not perplex'd
“By the dark meaning of a threat'ning text;
“You rather censure her who spends her time
“In search of Truth, as if it were a crime!
“Could I your dread of vulgar scandal feel,
“To whom should I, in my distress, appeal?
“A time there may be, Charles, indeed there must,
“When you will need a faithful Priest to trust,
“In conscience tender, but in counsel just.
“Charles, for my Fame I would in prudence strive,
“And, if I could, would keep your Love alive;
“But there are things that our attention claim,
“More near than Love, and more desired than Fame!”
D.—
“But why in secret?” he will ask you—
C.—
“Why?
“Oh! Charles, could you the doubting spirit spy,
“Had you such fears, all hearers you would shun;
“What one confesses should be heard by one.
“Your mind is gross, and you have dwelt so long
“With such companions, that you will be wrong:
“We fill our minds from those with whom we live,
“And as your fears are Nature's, I forgive;
“But learn your peace and my good name to prize,
“And fears of fancy let us both despise.”
D.—
C.—
O! my dear friend! let us from man retreat,
Or never trust him if we chance to meet—
The fickle wretch! that from our presence flies
To any flirt that any place supplies,
And laughs at vows!—but see the Letter!—here—
“Married at Guernsey!!!”—Oh! the Villain, dear!
Then I'll answer straight—
Not without Truth; for who would vainly tell
A wretched lie, when Truth might serve as well?
Had I not fever? is not that the bane
Of human wisdom? was I not insane?
Not without Truth; for who would vainly tell
A wretched lie, when Truth might serve as well?
Had I not fever? is not that the bane
Of human wisdom? was I not insane?
“Oh! Charles, no more! would you recall the day
“When it pleased Fate to take my wits away?
“How can I answer for a thousand things
“That this disorder to the sufferer brings?
“Is it not known, the men whom you dislike
“Are those who now the erring fancy strike?
“Nor would it much surprise me, if 'twere true,
“That in those days of dread I slighted you:
“When the poor mind, illumined by no spark
“Of reason's light, was wandering in the dark,
“You must not wonder, if the vilest train
“Of evil thoughts were printed on the brain;
“Nor if the loyal and the faithful prove
“False to their king, and faithless to their love.”
Your thoughts on this?
“When it pleased Fate to take my wits away?
“How can I answer for a thousand things
“That this disorder to the sufferer brings?
“Is it not known, the men whom you dislike
“Are those who now the erring fancy strike?
“Nor would it much surprise me, if 'twere true,
“That in those days of dread I slighted you:
“When the poor mind, illumined by no spark
“Of reason's light, was wandering in the dark,
“You must not wonder, if the vilest train
“Of evil thoughts were printed on the brain;
“Nor if the loyal and the faithful prove
“False to their king, and faithless to their love.”
Your thoughts on this?
278
With some you may succeed
By such bold strokes; but they must love indeed.
C.—
Doubt you his passion?—
D.—
But, in five long years
The passion settles—then the reason clears:
Turbid is love, and to ferment inclined,
But by and by grows sober and refined,
And peers for facts; but if one can't rely
On truth, one takes one's chance—you can but try.
The passion settles—then the reason clears:
Turbid is love, and to ferment inclined,
But by and by grows sober and refined,
And peers for facts; but if one can't rely
On truth, one takes one's chance—you can but try.
Yet once again I must attention ask
To a new Charge, and then resign my task.
I would not hurt you; but confess at least
That you were partial to that handsome Priest;
Say what they will of his religious mind,
He was warm-hearted, and to ladies kind:
Now, with his reverence you were daily seen,
When it was winter and the weather keen,
Traced to the mountains when the winds were strong,
And roughly bore you, arm in arm, along—
That wintry wind, inspired by love or zeal,
You were too faithful or too fond to feel.
Shielded from inward and from outward harm
By the strong spirit, and the fleshly arm—
The winter-garden you could both admire,
And leave his sisters at the parlour fire;
You trusted not your speech these dames among—
Better the teeth should chatter, than the tongue!
Did not your father stop the pure delight,
Of this perambulating Love at night?
It is reported, that his craft contrived
To get the Priest with expedition wived,
And sent away; for fathers will suspect
Her inward worth, whose ways are incorrect—
Patience, my dear! your Lover will appear;
At this new tale, then, what will be your cheer?
To a new Charge, and then resign my task.
I would not hurt you; but confess at least
That you were partial to that handsome Priest;
Say what they will of his religious mind,
He was warm-hearted, and to ladies kind:
Now, with his reverence you were daily seen,
When it was winter and the weather keen,
Traced to the mountains when the winds were strong,
And roughly bore you, arm in arm, along—
That wintry wind, inspired by love or zeal,
You were too faithful or too fond to feel.
Shielded from inward and from outward harm
By the strong spirit, and the fleshly arm—
The winter-garden you could both admire,
And leave his sisters at the parlour fire;
You trusted not your speech these dames among—
Better the teeth should chatter, than the tongue!
279
Of this perambulating Love at night?
It is reported, that his craft contrived
To get the Priest with expedition wived,
And sent away; for fathers will suspect
Her inward worth, whose ways are incorrect—
Patience, my dear! your Lover will appear;
At this new tale, then, what will be your cheer?
“I hear,” says he,—and he will look as grim
As if he heard his lass accusing him—
“I hear, my Celia, your alluring looks
“Kept the young Curate from his holy books:
“Parsons, we know, advise their flocks to pray;
“But 't is their duty—not the better they;
“'T is done for policy, for praise, for pay:
“Or let the very best be understood,
“They're men, you know, and men are flesh and blood.
“Now, they do say—but let me not offend—
“You were too often with this pious friend,
“And spent your time—”
As if he heard his lass accusing him—
“I hear, my Celia, your alluring looks
“Kept the young Curate from his holy books:
“Parsons, we know, advise their flocks to pray;
“But 't is their duty—not the better they;
“'T is done for policy, for praise, for pay:
“Or let the very best be understood,
“They're men, you know, and men are flesh and blood.
“Now, they do say—but let me not offend—
“You were too often with this pious friend,
“And spent your time—”
C.—
“As people ought to spend.
“And, sir, if you of some divine would ask
“Aid in your doubts, it were a happy task;
“But you, alas! the while, are not perplex'd
“By the dark meaning of a threat'ning text;
“You rather censure her who spends her time
“In search of Truth, as if it were a crime!
“Could I your dread of vulgar scandal feel,
“To whom should I, in my distress, appeal?
280
“When you will need a faithful Priest to trust,
“In conscience tender, but in counsel just.
“Charles, for my Fame I would in prudence strive,
“And, if I could, would keep your Love alive;
“But there are things that our attention claim,
“More near than Love, and more desired than Fame!”
D.—
“But why in secret?” he will ask you—
C.—
“Why?
“Oh! Charles, could you the doubting spirit spy,
“Had you such fears, all hearers you would shun;
“What one confesses should be heard by one.
“Your mind is gross, and you have dwelt so long
“With such companions, that you will be wrong:
“We fill our minds from those with whom we live,
“And as your fears are Nature's, I forgive;
“But learn your peace and my good name to prize,
“And fears of fancy let us both despise.”
D.—
Enough, my friend! Now let the man advance—
You are prepared, and nothing leave to chance:
'T is not sufficient that we're pure and just;
The wise to nothing but their wisdom trust—
You are prepared, and nothing leave to chance:
'T is not sufficient that we're pure and just;
The wise to nothing but their wisdom trust—
281
Will he himself appear, or will he send,
Duteous as warm! and not alarm my friend?
Duteous as warm! and not alarm my friend?
We need not ask—behold! his servant comes:
His father's livery! no fond heart presumes:
Thus he prepares you—kindly gives you space
To arm your mind, and rectify your face.
Now, read your Letter—while my faithful heart
Feels all that his can dictate or impart.
His father's livery! no fond heart presumes:
Thus he prepares you—kindly gives you space
To arm your mind, and rectify your face.
Now, read your Letter—while my faithful heart
Feels all that his can dictate or impart.
Nay! bless you, love! what melancholy tale
Conveys that paper? Why so deadly pale?
It is his sister's writing, but the seal
Is red: he lives. What is it that you feel?
Conveys that paper? Why so deadly pale?
It is his sister's writing, but the seal
Is red: he lives. What is it that you feel?
C.—
O! my dear friend! let us from man retreat,
Or never trust him if we chance to meet—
The fickle wretch! that from our presence flies
To any flirt that any place supplies,
And laughs at vows!—but see the Letter!—here—
“Married at Guernsey!!!”—Oh! the Villain, dear!
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |