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 |  |
“‘Let me not have this gloomy view,
“‘About my room, around my bed;
“‘But morning roses, wet with dew,
“‘To cool my burning brows instead.
“‘As flow'rs that once in Eden grew,
“‘Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
“‘And every day the sweets renew,
“‘Till I, a fading flower, am dead.
“‘About my room, around my bed;
“‘But morning roses, wet with dew,
“‘To cool my burning brows instead.
“‘As flow'rs that once in Eden grew,
“‘Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
“‘And every day the sweets renew,
“‘Till I, a fading flower, am dead.
200
“‘Oh! let the herbs I loved to rear
“‘Give to my sense their perfumed breath;
“‘Let them be placed about my bier,
“‘And grace the gloomy house of death.
“‘I'll have my grave beneath a hill,
“‘Where, only Lucy's self shall know;
“‘Where runs the pure pellucid rill
“‘Upon its gravelly bed below;
“‘There violets on the borders blow,
“‘And insects their soft light display,
“‘Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
“‘The cold phosphoric fires decay.
“‘Give to my sense their perfumed breath;
“‘Let them be placed about my bier,
“‘And grace the gloomy house of death.
“‘I'll have my grave beneath a hill,
“‘Where, only Lucy's self shall know;
“‘Where runs the pure pellucid rill
“‘Upon its gravelly bed below;
“‘There violets on the borders blow,
“‘And insects their soft light display,
“‘Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
“‘The cold phosphoric fires decay.
“‘That is the grave to Lucy shown,
“‘The soil a pure and silver sand,
“‘The green cold moss above it grown,
“‘Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand:
“‘In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,
“‘There let my maiden form be laid,
“‘Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,
“‘Nor for new guest that bed be made.
“‘The soil a pure and silver sand,
“‘The green cold moss above it grown,
“‘Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand:
“‘In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,
“‘There let my maiden form be laid,
“‘Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,
“‘Nor for new guest that bed be made.
“‘There will the lark,—the lamb, in sport,
“‘In air,—on earth,—securely play,
“‘And Lucy to my grave resort,
“‘As innocent, but not so gay.
“‘I will not have the churchyard ground,
“‘With bones all black and ugly grown,
“‘To press my shivering body round,
“‘Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.
“‘In air,—on earth,—securely play,
“‘And Lucy to my grave resort,
“‘As innocent, but not so gay.
“‘I will not have the churchyard ground,
“‘With bones all black and ugly grown,
“‘To press my shivering body round,
“‘Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.
201
“‘With ribs and skulls I will not sleep,
“‘In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
“‘Through which the ringed earth-worms creep,
“‘And on the shrouded bosom prey;
“‘I will not have the bell proclaim
“‘When those sad marriage rites begin,
“‘And boys, without regard or shame,
“‘Press the vile mouldering masses in.
“‘In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
“‘Through which the ringed earth-worms creep,
“‘And on the shrouded bosom prey;
“‘I will not have the bell proclaim
“‘When those sad marriage rites begin,
“‘And boys, without regard or shame,
“‘Press the vile mouldering masses in.
“‘Say not, it is beneath my care;
“‘I cannot these cold truths allow;
“‘These thoughts may not afflict me there,
“‘But, O! they vex and tease me now.
“‘Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,
“‘That man a maiden's grave may trace,
“‘But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
“‘And let affection find the place.
“‘I cannot these cold truths allow;
“‘These thoughts may not afflict me there,
“‘But, O! they vex and tease me now.
“‘Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,
“‘That man a maiden's grave may trace,
“‘But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
“‘And let affection find the place.
“‘Oh! take me from a world I hate,
“‘Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
“‘And, in some pure and blessed state,
“‘Let me my sister minds behold:
“‘From gross and sordid views refined,
“‘Our heaven of spotless love to share,
“‘For only generous souls design'd,
“‘And not a man to meet us there.’”
“‘Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
“‘And, in some pure and blessed state,
“‘Let me my sister minds behold:
“‘From gross and sordid views refined,
“‘Our heaven of spotless love to share,
“‘For only generous souls design'd,
“‘And not a man to meet us there.’”
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |