The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe :: :: University of Virginia Library

The morning shone in cloudless beauty bright;
Richard his letters read with much delight;
George from his pillow rose in happy tone,
His bosom's lord sat lightly on his throne:
They read the morning news—they saw the sky
Inviting call'd them, and the earth was dry.

“The day invites us, Brother,” said the Squire;
“Come, and I'll show thee something to admire:
“We still may beauty in our prospects trace;
“If not, we have them in both mind and face.

“'Tis but two miles—to let such women live
“Unseen of him, what reason can I give?
“Why should not Richard to the girls be known?
“Would I have all their friendship for my own?

“Brother, there dwell, yon northern hill below,
“Two favourite maidens, whom 'tis good to know

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“Young, but experienced; dwellers in a cot,
“Where they sustain and dignify their lot,
“The best good girls in all our world below—
“O! you must know them—Come! and you shall know.

“But, lo! the morning wastes—here, Jacob, stir—
“If Phœbe comes, do you attend to her;
“And let not Mary get a chattering press
“Of idle girls to hear of her distress:
“Ask her to wait till my return—and hide
“From her meek mind your plenty and your pride;
“Nor vex a creature, humble, sad, and still,
“By your coarse bounty, and your rude good-will.”

This said, the Brothers hasten'd on their way,
With all the foretaste of a pleasant day.
The morning purpose in the mind had fix'd
The leading thought, and that with others mix'd.

“How well it is,” said George, “when we possess
“The strength that bears us up in our distress;
“And need not the resources of our pride,
“Our fall from greatness and our wants to hide;
“But have the spirit and the wish to show,
“We know our wants as well as others know.
“'Tis true, the rapid turns of fortune's wheel
“Make even the virtuous and the humble feel:
“They for a time must suffer, and but few
“Can bear their sorrows and our pity too.

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“Hence all these small expedients, day by day,
“Are used to hide the evils they betray:
“When, if our pity chances to be seen,
“The wounded pride retorts, with anger keen,
“And man's insulted grief takes refuge in his spleen.

“When Timon's board contains a single dish,
“Timon talks much of market-men and fish,
“Forgetful servants, and th' infernal cook,
“Who always spoil'd whate'er she undertook.

“But say, it tries us from our height to fall,
“Yet is not life itself a trial all?
“And not a virtue in the bosom lives,
“That gives such ready pay as patience gives;
“That pure submission to the ruling mind,
“Fix'd, but not forced; obedient, but not blind;
“The will of heaven to make her own she tries,
“Or makes her own to heaven a sacrifice.

“And is there aught on earth so rich or rare,
“Whose pleasures may with virtue's pains compare?
“This fruit of patience, this the pure delight,
“That 'tis a trial in her Judge's sight;
“Her part still striving duty to sustain,
“Not spurning pleasure, not defying pain;

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“Never in triumph till her race be won,
“And never fainting till her work be done.”

With thoughts like these they reach'd the village brook,
And saw a lady sitting with her book;
And so engaged she heard not, till the men
Were at her side, nor was she frighten'd then;
But to her friend, the Squire, his smile return'd,
Through which the latent sadness he discern'd.
The stranger-brother at the cottage door
Was now admitted, and was strange no more:
Then of an absent sister he was told,
Whom they were not at present to behold;
Something was said of nerves, and that disease,
Whose varying powers on mind and body seize,
Enfeebling both!—Here chose they to remain
One hour in peace, and then return'd again.
“I know not why,” said Richard, “but I feel
“The warmest pity on my bosom steal
“For that dear maid! How well her looks express
“For this world's good a cherish'd hopelessness!
“A resignation that is so entire,
“It feels not now the stirrings of desire;

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“What now to her is all the world esteems?
“She is awake, and cares not for its dreams;
“But moves while yet on earth, as one above
“Its hopes and fears—its loathing and its love.

“But shall I learn,” said he, “these sisters' fate?”—
And found his Brother willing to relate.