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 |  |
I to your kindness speak! let that prevail,
And of my frailty judge as beings frail.—
And of my frailty judge as beings frail.—
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My father dying, to my mother left
An infant charge, of all things else bereft;
Poor, but experienced in the world, she knew
What others did, and judged what she could do;
Beauty she justly weigh'd, was never blind
To her own interest, and she read mankind:
She view'd my person with approving glance,
And judged the way my fortune to advance:
Taught me betimes that person to improve,
And make a lawful merchandise of love;
Bade me my temper in subjection keep,
And not permit my vigilance to sleep;
I was not one, a miss, who might presume
Now to be crazed by mirth, now sunk in gloom;
Nor to be fretful, vapourish, or give way
To spleen and anger, as the wealthy may;
But I must please, and all I felt of pride,
Contempt, and hatred, I must cast aside.
An infant charge, of all things else bereft;
Poor, but experienced in the world, she knew
What others did, and judged what she could do;
Beauty she justly weigh'd, was never blind
To her own interest, and she read mankind:
She view'd my person with approving glance,
And judged the way my fortune to advance:
Taught me betimes that person to improve,
And make a lawful merchandise of love;
Bade me my temper in subjection keep,
And not permit my vigilance to sleep;
I was not one, a miss, who might presume
Now to be crazed by mirth, now sunk in gloom;
Nor to be fretful, vapourish, or give way
To spleen and anger, as the wealthy may;
But I must please, and all I felt of pride,
Contempt, and hatred, I must cast aside.
“Have not one friend,” my mother cried, “not one;
“That bane of our romantic triflers shun;
“Suppose her true, can she afford you aid?
“Suppose her false, your purpose is betray'd;
“And then in dubious points, and matters nice,
“How can you profit by a child's advice?
“While you are writing on from post to post,
“Your hour is over, and a man is lost;
“Girls of their hearts are scribbling; their desires,
“And what the folly of the heart requires,
“Dupes to their dreams—but I the truth impart,
“You cannot, child, afford to have a heart;
“Think nothing of it; to yourself be true,
“And keep life's first great business in your view;—
“Take it, dear Martha, for a useful rule,
“She who is poor is ugly or a fool;
“Or, worse than either, has a bosom fill'd
“With soft emotions, and with raptures thrill'd.
“That bane of our romantic triflers shun;
“Suppose her true, can she afford you aid?
“Suppose her false, your purpose is betray'd;
“And then in dubious points, and matters nice,
“How can you profit by a child's advice?
“While you are writing on from post to post,
“Your hour is over, and a man is lost;
“Girls of their hearts are scribbling; their desires,
“And what the folly of the heart requires,
“Dupes to their dreams—but I the truth impart,
“You cannot, child, afford to have a heart;
258
“And keep life's first great business in your view;—
“Take it, dear Martha, for a useful rule,
“She who is poor is ugly or a fool;
“Or, worse than either, has a bosom fill'd
“With soft emotions, and with raptures thrill'd.
“Read not too much, nor write in verse or prose,
“For then you make the dull and foolish foes;
“Yet those who do, deride not nor condemn,
“It is not safe to raise up foes in them;
“For though they harm you not, as blockheads do,
“There is some malice in the scribbling crew.”
“For then you make the dull and foolish foes;
“Yet those who do, deride not nor condemn,
“It is not safe to raise up foes in them;
“For though they harm you not, as blockheads do,
“There is some malice in the scribbling crew.”
Such her advice: full hard with her had dealt
The world, and she the usage keenly felt.
The world, and she the usage keenly felt.
“Keep your good name,” she said; “and that to keep,
“You must not suffer vigilance to sleep:
“Some have, perhaps, the name of chaste retain'd,
“When nought of chastity itself remain'd;
“But there is danger—few have means to blind
“The keen-eyed world, and none to make it kind.
“You must not suffer vigilance to sleep:
“Some have, perhaps, the name of chaste retain'd,
“When nought of chastity itself remain'd;
“But there is danger—few have means to blind
“The keen-eyed world, and none to make it kind.
“And one thing more—to free yourself from foes,
“Never a secret to your friend disclose;
“Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
“Are never valued till they make a noise;
“To show how trusted, they their power display;
“To show how worthy, they the trust betray;
“Like pence in children's pockets secrets lie
“In female bosoms—they must burn or fly.
“Never a secret to your friend disclose;
“Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
“Are never valued till they make a noise;
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“To show how worthy, they the trust betray;
“Like pence in children's pockets secrets lie
“In female bosoms—they must burn or fly.
“Let not your heart be soften'd; if it be,
“Let not the man his softening influence see;
“For the most fond will sometimes tyrants prove,
“And wound the bosom where they trace the love.
“But to your fortune look, on that depend
“For your life's comforts, comforts that attend
“On wealth alone—wealth gone, they have their end.”
“Let not the man his softening influence see;
“For the most fond will sometimes tyrants prove,
“And wound the bosom where they trace the love.
“But to your fortune look, on that depend
“For your life's comforts, comforts that attend
“On wealth alone—wealth gone, they have their end.”
Such were my mother's cares to mend my lot,
And, such her pupil, they succeeded not.
And, such her pupil, they succeeded not.
It was conceived the person I had then
Might lead to serious thoughts some wealthy men,
Who, having none their purpose to oppose,
Would soon be won their wishes to disclose:
My mother thought I was the very child
By whom the old and amorous are beguiled;
So mildly gay, so ignorantly fair,
And pure, no doubt, as sleeping infants are:
Then I had lessons how to look and move,
And, I repeat, make merchandise of love.
Might lead to serious thoughts some wealthy men,
Who, having none their purpose to oppose,
Would soon be won their wishes to disclose:
My mother thought I was the very child
By whom the old and amorous are beguiled;
So mildly gay, so ignorantly fair,
And pure, no doubt, as sleeping infants are:
Then I had lessons how to look and move,
And, I repeat, make merchandise of love.
Thrice it was tried if one so young could bring
Old wary men to buy the binding ring;
And on the taper finger, to whose tip
The fond old swain would press his withering lip,
Place the strong charm:—and one would win my heart
By re-assuming youth—a trying part;
Girls, he supposed, all knew the young were bold,
And he would show that spirit in the old;
In boys they loved to hear the rattling tongue,
And he would talk as idly as the young;
He knew the vices our Lotharios boast,
And he would show of every vice the ghost,
The evil's self, without disguise or dress,
Vice in its own pure native ugliness;
Not as the drunkenness of slaves to prove
Vice hateful, but that seeing, I might love.
He drove me out, and I was pleased to see
Care of himself, it served as care for me;
For he would tell me, that he should not spare
Man, horse, or carriage, if I were not there:
Provoked at last, my malice I obey'd,
And smiling said, “Sir, I am not afraid.’
This check'd his spirit; but he said, “Could you
“Have charge so rich, you would be careful too.”
And he, indeed, so very slowly drove,
That we dismiss'd the over-cautious love.
Old wary men to buy the binding ring;
And on the taper finger, to whose tip
The fond old swain would press his withering lip,
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By re-assuming youth—a trying part;
Girls, he supposed, all knew the young were bold,
And he would show that spirit in the old;
In boys they loved to hear the rattling tongue,
And he would talk as idly as the young;
He knew the vices our Lotharios boast,
And he would show of every vice the ghost,
The evil's self, without disguise or dress,
Vice in its own pure native ugliness;
Not as the drunkenness of slaves to prove
Vice hateful, but that seeing, I might love.
He drove me out, and I was pleased to see
Care of himself, it served as care for me;
For he would tell me, that he should not spare
Man, horse, or carriage, if I were not there:
Provoked at last, my malice I obey'd,
And smiling said, “Sir, I am not afraid.’
This check'd his spirit; but he said, “Could you
“Have charge so rich, you would be careful too.”
And he, indeed, so very slowly drove,
That we dismiss'd the over-cautious love.
My next admirer was of equal age,
And wish'd the child's affection to engage,
And keep the fluttering bird a victim in his cage:
He had no portion of his rival's glee,
But gravely praised the gravity in me;
Religious, moral, both in word and deed,
But warmly disputatious in his creed:
Wild in his younger time, as we were told,
And therefore like a penitent when old.
Strange! he should wish a lively girl to look
Upon the methods his repentance took.
Then he would say, he was no more a rake
To squander money for his passions' sake;
Yet, upon proper terms, as man discreet,
He with my mother was disposed to treat,
To whom he told, “the price of beauty fell
“In every market, and but few could sell;
“That trade in India, once alive and brisk,
“Was over done, and scarcely worth the risk.”
Then stoop'd to speak of board, and what for life
A wife would cost—if he should take a wife.
Hardly he bargain'd, and so much desired,
That we demurr'd; and he, displeased, retired.
And wish'd the child's affection to engage,
And keep the fluttering bird a victim in his cage:
He had no portion of his rival's glee,
But gravely praised the gravity in me;
Religious, moral, both in word and deed,
But warmly disputatious in his creed:
Wild in his younger time, as we were told,
And therefore like a penitent when old.
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Upon the methods his repentance took.
Then he would say, he was no more a rake
To squander money for his passions' sake;
Yet, upon proper terms, as man discreet,
He with my mother was disposed to treat,
To whom he told, “the price of beauty fell
“In every market, and but few could sell;
“That trade in India, once alive and brisk,
“Was over done, and scarcely worth the risk.”
Then stoop'd to speak of board, and what for life
A wife would cost—if he should take a wife.
Hardly he bargain'd, and so much desired,
That we demurr'd; and he, displeased, retired.
And now I hoped to rest, nor act again
The paltry part for which I felt disdain,
When a third lover came within our view,
And somewhat differing from the former two;
He had been much abroad, and he had seen
The world's weak side, and read the hearts of men;
But all, it seem'd, this study could produce,
Was food for spleen, derision, and abuse;
He levell'd all, as one who had intent
To clear the vile and spot the innocent;
He praised my sense, and said I ought to be
From girl's restraint and nursery maxims free;
He praised my mother; but he judged her wrong
To keep us from the admiring world so long;
He praised himself; and then his vices named,
And call'd them follies, and was not ashamed.
He more than hinted that the lessons taught
By priests were all with superstition fraught;
And I must think them for the crowd design'd,
Not to alarm the free and liberal mind.
The paltry part for which I felt disdain,
When a third lover came within our view,
And somewhat differing from the former two;
He had been much abroad, and he had seen
The world's weak side, and read the hearts of men;
But all, it seem'd, this study could produce,
Was food for spleen, derision, and abuse;
He levell'd all, as one who had intent
To clear the vile and spot the innocent;
He praised my sense, and said I ought to be
From girl's restraint and nursery maxims free;
He praised my mother; but he judged her wrong
To keep us from the admiring world so long;
He praised himself; and then his vices named,
And call'd them follies, and was not ashamed.
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By priests were all with superstition fraught;
And I must think them for the crowd design'd,
Not to alarm the free and liberal mind.
Wisdom with him was virtue. They were wrong
And weak, he said, who went not with the throng;
Man must his passions order and restrain,
In all that gives his fellow-subjects pain;
But yet of guilt he would in pity speak,
And as he judged, the wicked were the weak.
And weak, he said, who went not with the throng;
Man must his passions order and restrain,
In all that gives his fellow-subjects pain;
But yet of guilt he would in pity speak,
And as he judged, the wicked were the weak.
Such was the lover of a simple maid,
Who seem'd to call his logic to his aid,
And to mean something: I will not pretend
To judge the purpose of my reasoning friend,
Who was dismiss'd, in quiet to complain
That so much labour was bestow'd in vain.
Who seem'd to call his logic to his aid,
And to mean something: I will not pretend
To judge the purpose of my reasoning friend,
Who was dismiss'd, in quiet to complain
That so much labour was bestow'd in vain.
And now my mother seem'd disposed to try
A life of reason and tranquillity;
Ere this, her health and spirits were the best,
Hers the day's trifling, and the nightly rest;
But something new was in her mind instill'd;
Unquiet thoughts the matron bosom fill'd;
For five and forty peaceful years she bore
Her placid looks, and dress becoming wore:
She could a compliment with pleasure take,
But no absurd impression could it make.
Now were her nerves disorder'd: she was weak,
And must the help of a physician seek;
A Scotch physician, who had just began
To settle near us, quite a graceful man,
And very clever, with a soft address,
That would his meaning tenderly express.
A life of reason and tranquillity;
Ere this, her health and spirits were the best,
Hers the day's trifling, and the nightly rest;
But something new was in her mind instill'd;
Unquiet thoughts the matron bosom fill'd;
For five and forty peaceful years she bore
Her placid looks, and dress becoming wore:
She could a compliment with pleasure take,
But no absurd impression could it make.
Now were her nerves disorder'd: she was weak,
And must the help of a physician seek;
263
To settle near us, quite a graceful man,
And very clever, with a soft address,
That would his meaning tenderly express.
Sick as my mother seem'd, when he enquired
If she was ill, he found her well attired;
She purchased wares so showy and so fine,
The venders all believed th' indulgence mine:—
But I, who thrice was woo'd, had lovers three,
Must now again a very infant be;
While the good lady, twenty years a wife,
Was to decide the colour of his life:
And she decided. She was wont t' appear
To these unequal marriages severe;
Her thoughts of such with energy she told,
And was repulsive, dignified, and cold;
But now, like monarchs weary of a throne,
She would no longer reign—at least alone.
If she was ill, he found her well attired;
She purchased wares so showy and so fine,
The venders all believed th' indulgence mine:—
But I, who thrice was woo'd, had lovers three,
Must now again a very infant be;
While the good lady, twenty years a wife,
Was to decide the colour of his life:
And she decided. She was wont t' appear
To these unequal marriages severe;
Her thoughts of such with energy she told,
And was repulsive, dignified, and cold;
But now, like monarchs weary of a throne,
She would no longer reign—at least alone.
She gave her pulse, and, with a manner sweet,
Wish'd him to feel how kindly they could beat;
And 't is a thing quite wonderful to tell
How soon he understood them, and how well.
Wish'd him to feel how kindly they could beat;
And 't is a thing quite wonderful to tell
How soon he understood them, and how well.
Now, when she married, I from home was sent,
With grandmamma to keep perpetual Lent;
For she would take me on conditions cheap,
For what we scarcely could a parrot keep:
A trifle added to the daily fare
Would feed a maiden who must learn to spare
With grandmamma to keep perpetual Lent;
For she would take me on conditions cheap,
For what we scarcely could a parrot keep:
A trifle added to the daily fare
Would feed a maiden who must learn to spare
264
With grandmamma I lived in perfect ease;
Consent to starve, and I was sure to please.
Full well I knew the painful shifts we made
Expenses all to lessen or evade,
And tradesmen's flinty hearts to soften and persuade.
Consent to starve, and I was sure to please.
Full well I knew the painful shifts we made
Expenses all to lessen or evade,
And tradesmen's flinty hearts to soften and persuade.
Poor grandmamma among the gentry dwelt
Of a small town, and all the honour felt;
Shrinking from all approaches to disgrace
That might be marked in so genteel a place;
Where every daily deed, as soon as done,
Ran through the town as fast as it could run:—
At dinners what appear'd—at cards who lost or won.
Of a small town, and all the honour felt;
Shrinking from all approaches to disgrace
That might be marked in so genteel a place;
Where every daily deed, as soon as done,
Ran through the town as fast as it could run:—
At dinners what appear'd—at cards who lost or won.
Our good appearance through the town was known,
Hunger and thirst were matters of our own;
And you would judge that she in scandal dealt
Who told on what we fed, or how we felt.
Hunger and thirst were matters of our own;
And you would judge that she in scandal dealt
Who told on what we fed, or how we felt.
We had a little maid, some four feet high,
Who was employ'd our household stores to buy;
For she would weary every man in trade,
And tease to assent, whom she could not persuade.
Who was employ'd our household stores to buy;
For she would weary every man in trade,
And tease to assent, whom she could not persuade.
Methinks I see her, with her pigmy light,
Precede her mistress in a moonless night;
From the small lantern throwing through the street
The dimm'd effulgence at her lady's feet;
What time she went to prove her well-known skill
With rival friends at their beloved quadrille.
Precede her mistress in a moonless night;
From the small lantern throwing through the street
The dimm'd effulgence at her lady's feet;
What time she went to prove her well-known skill
With rival friends at their beloved quadrille.
265
“And how's your pain?” enquired the gentle maid,
For that was asking if with luck she play'd;
And this she answer'd as the cards decreed,
“O Biddy! ask not—very bad indeed;”
Or, in more cheerful tone, from spirit light,
“Why, thank you, Biddy, pretty well to-night.”
For that was asking if with luck she play'd;
And this she answer'd as the cards decreed,
“O Biddy! ask not—very bad indeed;”
Or, in more cheerful tone, from spirit light,
“Why, thank you, Biddy, pretty well to-night.”
The good old lady often thought me vain,
And of my dress would tenderly complain;
But liked my taste in food of every kind,
As from all grossness, like her own, refined:
Yet when she hinted that on herbs and bread
Girls of my age and spirit should be fed,
Whate'er my age had borne, my flesh and blood,
Spirit and strength, the interdict withstood;
But though I might the frugal soul offend
Of the good matron, now my only friend,
And though her purse suggested rules so strict,
Her love could not the punishment inflict:
She sometimes watch'd the morsel with a frown,
And sigh'd to see, but let it still go down.
And of my dress would tenderly complain;
But liked my taste in food of every kind,
As from all grossness, like her own, refined:
Yet when she hinted that on herbs and bread
Girls of my age and spirit should be fed,
Whate'er my age had borne, my flesh and blood,
Spirit and strength, the interdict withstood;
But though I might the frugal soul offend
Of the good matron, now my only friend,
And though her purse suggested rules so strict,
Her love could not the punishment inflict:
She sometimes watch'd the morsel with a frown,
And sigh'd to see, but let it still go down.
Our butcher's bill, to me a monstrous sum,
Was such, that summon'd, he forbore to come:
Proud man was he, and when the bill was paid,
He put the money in his bag and play'd,
Jerking it up, and catching it again,
And poising in his hand in pure disdain;
While the good lady, awed by man so proud,
And yet disposed to have her claims allow'd,
Balanced between humility and pride,
Stood a fall'n empress at the butcher's side,
Praising his meat as delicate and nice—
“Yes, madam, yes! if people pay the price.”
Was such, that summon'd, he forbore to come:
Proud man was he, and when the bill was paid,
He put the money in his bag and play'd,
Jerking it up, and catching it again,
And poising in his hand in pure disdain;
While the good lady, awed by man so proud,
And yet disposed to have her claims allow'd,
266
Stood a fall'n empress at the butcher's side,
Praising his meat as delicate and nice—
“Yes, madam, yes! if people pay the price.”
So lived the lady, and so murmur'd I,
In all the grief of pride and poverty:
Twice in the year there came a note to tell
How well mamma, who hoped the child was well;
It was not then a pleasure to be styled,
By a mamma of such experience, Child!
But I suppress'd the feelings of my pride,
Or other feelings set them all aside.
In all the grief of pride and poverty:
Twice in the year there came a note to tell
How well mamma, who hoped the child was well;
It was not then a pleasure to be styled,
By a mamma of such experience, Child!
But I suppress'd the feelings of my pride,
Or other feelings set them all aside.
There was a youth from college, just the one
I judged mamma would value as a son;
He was to me good, handsome, learn'd, genteel,
I cannot now what then I thought reveal;
But, in a word, he was the very youth
Who told me what I judged the very truth,
That love like his and charms like mine agreed,
For all description they must both exceed:
Yet scarcely can I throw a smile on things
So painful, but that Time his comfort brings,
Or rather throws oblivion on the mind;
For we are more forgetful than resign'd.
I judged mamma would value as a son;
He was to me good, handsome, learn'd, genteel,
I cannot now what then I thought reveal;
But, in a word, he was the very youth
Who told me what I judged the very truth,
That love like his and charms like mine agreed,
For all description they must both exceed:
Yet scarcely can I throw a smile on things
So painful, but that Time his comfort brings,
Or rather throws oblivion on the mind;
For we are more forgetful than resign'd.
We both were young, had heard of love and read,
And could see nothing in the thing to dread,
But like a simple pair our time employ'd
In pleasant views to be in time enjoy'd;
When Frederick came, the kind old lady smiled
To see the youth so taken with her child;
A nice young man, who came with unsoil'd feet
In her best room, and neither drank nor eat:
Alas! he planted in a vacant breast
The hopes and fears that robb'd it of its rest.
And could see nothing in the thing to dread,
But like a simple pair our time employ'd
In pleasant views to be in time enjoy'd;
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To see the youth so taken with her child;
A nice young man, who came with unsoil'd feet
In her best room, and neither drank nor eat:
Alas! he planted in a vacant breast
The hopes and fears that robb'd it of its rest.
All now appear'd so right, so fair, so just,
We surely might the lovely prospect trust;
Alas! poor Frederick and his charmer found
That they were standing on fallacious ground:
All that the father of the youth could do
Was done—and now he must himself pursue
Success in life; and, honest truth to state,
He was not fitted for a candidate:
I, too, had nothing in this world below,
Save what a Scotch physician could bestow,
Who for a pittance took my mother's hand,
And if disposed, what had they to command?
But these were after fears, nor came t' annoy
The tender children in their dreams of joy:
Who talk'd of glebe and garden, tithe and rent,
And how a fancied income should be spent;
What friends, what social parties we should see,
And live with what genteel economy;
In fact, we gave our hearts as children give,
And thought of living as our neighbours live.
We surely might the lovely prospect trust;
Alas! poor Frederick and his charmer found
That they were standing on fallacious ground:
All that the father of the youth could do
Was done—and now he must himself pursue
Success in life; and, honest truth to state,
He was not fitted for a candidate:
I, too, had nothing in this world below,
Save what a Scotch physician could bestow,
Who for a pittance took my mother's hand,
And if disposed, what had they to command?
But these were after fears, nor came t' annoy
The tender children in their dreams of joy:
Who talk'd of glebe and garden, tithe and rent,
And how a fancied income should be spent;
What friends, what social parties we should see,
And live with what genteel economy;
In fact, we gave our hearts as children give,
And thought of living as our neighbours live.
Now when assured ourselves that all was well,
'Twas right our friends of these designs to tell:
For this we parted.—Grandmamma, amazed,
Upon her child with fond compassion gazed;
Then pious tears appear'd, but not a word
In aid of weeping till she cried, “Good Lord!”
She then, with hurried motion, sought the stairs,
And calling Biddy, bade her come to prayers.
'Twas right our friends of these designs to tell:
For this we parted.—Grandmamma, amazed,
Upon her child with fond compassion gazed;
268
In aid of weeping till she cried, “Good Lord!”
She then, with hurried motion, sought the stairs,
And calling Biddy, bade her come to prayers.
Yet the good lady early in her life
Was call'd to vow the duties of a wife;
She sought the altar by her friends' advice,
No free-will offering, but a sacrifice:
But here a forward girl and eager boy
Dared talk of life, and turn their heads with joy.
To my mamma I wrote in just the way
I felt, and said what dreaming lasses say;
How handsome Frederick was, by all confess'd,
How well he look'd, how very well he dress'd;
With learning much, that would for both provide,
His mother's darling, and his father's pride:
And then he loves me more than mind can guess.
Than heart conceive, or eloquence express.
Was call'd to vow the duties of a wife;
She sought the altar by her friends' advice,
No free-will offering, but a sacrifice:
But here a forward girl and eager boy
Dared talk of life, and turn their heads with joy.
To my mamma I wrote in just the way
I felt, and said what dreaming lasses say;
How handsome Frederick was, by all confess'd,
How well he look'd, how very well he dress'd;
With learning much, that would for both provide,
His mother's darling, and his father's pride:
And then he loves me more than mind can guess.
Than heart conceive, or eloquence express.
No letter came, a doubtful mind to ease,
And, what was worse, no Frederick came to please;
To college gone—so thought our little maid—
But not to see me! I was much afraid;
I walk'd the garden round, and deeply sigh'd,
When grandmamma grew faint! and dropp'd, and died:
A fate so awful and so sudden drove
All else away, and half extinguish'd love.
And, what was worse, no Frederick came to please;
To college gone—so thought our little maid—
But not to see me! I was much afraid;
I walk'd the garden round, and deeply sigh'd,
When grandmamma grew faint! and dropp'd, and died:
A fate so awful and so sudden drove
All else away, and half extinguish'd love.
Strange people came; they search'd the house around,
And, vulgar wretches! sold whate'er they found:
The secret hoards that in the drawers were kept,
The silver toys that with the tokens slept,
The precious beads, the corals with their bells,
That laid secure, lock'd up in secret cells,
The costly silk, the tabby, the brocade,
The very garment for the wedding made,
Were brought to sale, with many a jest thereon!
“Going—a bridal dress—for—Going!—Gone.”
That ring, dear pledge of early love and true,
That to the wedded finger almost grew,
Was sold for six and ten-pence to a Jew!
And, vulgar wretches! sold whate'er they found:
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The silver toys that with the tokens slept,
The precious beads, the corals with their bells,
That laid secure, lock'd up in secret cells,
The costly silk, the tabby, the brocade,
The very garment for the wedding made,
Were brought to sale, with many a jest thereon!
“Going—a bridal dress—for—Going!—Gone.”
That ring, dear pledge of early love and true,
That to the wedded finger almost grew,
Was sold for six and ten-pence to a Jew!
Great was the fancied worth; but ah! how small
The sum thus made, and yet how valued all!
But all that to the shameful service went
Just paid the bills, the burial, and the rent;
And I and Biddy, poor deserted maids!
Were turn'd adrift to seek for other aids
The sum thus made, and yet how valued all!
But all that to the shameful service went
Just paid the bills, the burial, and the rent;
And I and Biddy, poor deserted maids!
Were turn'd adrift to seek for other aids
Now left by all the world, as I believed,
I wonder'd much that I so little grieved;
Yet I was frighten'd at the painful view
Of shiftless want, and saw not what to do
In times like this the poor have little dread,
They can but work, and they shall then be fed:
And Biddy cheer'd me with such thoughts as this,
“You'll find the poor have their enjoyments, Miss!”
Indeed I saw, for Biddy took me home
To a forsaken hovel's cold and gloom;
And, while my tears in plenteous flow were shed,
With her own hands she placed her proper bed,
Reserved for need—A fire was quickly made,
And food, the purchase for the day, display'd:
She let in air to make the damps retire,
Then placed her sad companion at her fire;
She then began her wonted peace to feel,
She bought her wool, and sought her favourite wheel,
That as she turn'd, she sang with sober glee,
“Begone, dull Care! I'll have no more with thee;
Then turn'd to me, and bade me weep no more,
But try and taste the pleasures of the poor.
I wonder'd much that I so little grieved;
Yet I was frighten'd at the painful view
Of shiftless want, and saw not what to do
In times like this the poor have little dread,
They can but work, and they shall then be fed:
And Biddy cheer'd me with such thoughts as this,
“You'll find the poor have their enjoyments, Miss!”
Indeed I saw, for Biddy took me home
To a forsaken hovel's cold and gloom;
And, while my tears in plenteous flow were shed,
With her own hands she placed her proper bed,
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And food, the purchase for the day, display'd:
She let in air to make the damps retire,
Then placed her sad companion at her fire;
She then began her wonted peace to feel,
She bought her wool, and sought her favourite wheel,
That as she turn'd, she sang with sober glee,
“Begone, dull Care! I'll have no more with thee;
Then turn'd to me, and bade me weep no more,
But try and taste the pleasures of the poor.
When dinner came, on table brown and bare
Were placed the humblest forms of earthen ware,
With one blue dish, on which our food was placed,
For appetite provided, not for taste:
I look'd disgusted, having lately seen
All so minutely delicate and clean;
Yet, as I sat, I found to my surprise
A vulgar kind of inclination rise,
And near my humble friend, and nearer drew,
Tried the strange food, and was partaker too.
Were placed the humblest forms of earthen ware,
With one blue dish, on which our food was placed,
For appetite provided, not for taste:
I look'd disgusted, having lately seen
All so minutely delicate and clean;
Yet, as I sat, I found to my surprise
A vulgar kind of inclination rise,
And near my humble friend, and nearer drew,
Tried the strange food, and was partaker too.
I walk'd at eve, but not where I was seen,
And thought, with sorrow, what can Frederick mean?
I must not write, I said, for I am poor;
And then I wept till I could weep no more.
Kind-hearted Biddy tried my griefs to heal:
“This is a nothing to what others feel:
“Life has a thousand sorrows worse than this,
“A lover lost is not a fortune, Miss!
“One goes, another comes, and which is best
“There is no telling—set your heart at rest.”
And thought, with sorrow, what can Frederick mean?
I must not write, I said, for I am poor;
And then I wept till I could weep no more.
Kind-hearted Biddy tried my griefs to heal:
“This is a nothing to what others feel:
“Life has a thousand sorrows worse than this,
“A lover lost is not a fortune, Miss!
“One goes, another comes, and which is best
“There is no telling—set your heart at rest.”
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At night we pray'd—I dare not say a word
Of our devotion, it was so absurd;
And very pious upon Biddy's part,
But mine were all effusions of the heart;
While she her angels call'd their peace to shed,
And bless the corners of our little bed.
All was a dream! I said, is this indeed
To be my life? and thus to lodge and feed,
To pay for what I have, and work for what I need?
Must I be poor? and Frederick, if we meet,
Would not so much as know me in the street?
Or, as he walk'd with ladies, he would try
To be engaged as we were passing by—
And then I wept to think that I should grow
Like them whom he would be ashamed to know.
Of our devotion, it was so absurd;
And very pious upon Biddy's part,
But mine were all effusions of the heart;
While she her angels call'd their peace to shed,
And bless the corners of our little bed.
All was a dream! I said, is this indeed
To be my life? and thus to lodge and feed,
To pay for what I have, and work for what I need?
Must I be poor? and Frederick, if we meet,
Would not so much as know me in the street?
Or, as he walk'd with ladies, he would try
To be engaged as we were passing by—
And then I wept to think that I should grow
Like them whom he would be ashamed to know.
On the third day, while striving with my fate,
And hearing Biddy all its comforts state,
Talking of all her neighbours, all her schemes,
Her stories, merry jests, and warning dreams;
With tales of mirth and murder! Oh! the nights
Pass'd, said the maiden, in such dear delights,
And I was thinking, can the time arrive
When I shall thus be humbled, and survive?—
Then I beheld a horse and handsome gig,
With the good air, tall form, and comely wig
Of Doctor Mackey—I in fear began
To say, Good Heaven, preserve me from the man!
But fears ill reason,—Heaven to such a mind
Had lent a heart compassionate and kind.
And hearing Biddy all its comforts state,
Talking of all her neighbours, all her schemes,
Her stories, merry jests, and warning dreams;
With tales of mirth and murder! Oh! the nights
Pass'd, said the maiden, in such dear delights,
And I was thinking, can the time arrive
When I shall thus be humbled, and survive?—
Then I beheld a horse and handsome gig,
With the good air, tall form, and comely wig
Of Doctor Mackey—I in fear began
To say, Good Heaven, preserve me from the man!
But fears ill reason,—Heaven to such a mind
Had lent a heart compassionate and kind.
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From him I learnt that one had call'd to know
What with my hand my parents could bestow;
And when he learn'd the truth, in high disdain
He told my fate, and home return'd again.
“Nay, be not grieved, my lovely girl; but few
“Wed the first love, however kind and true;
“Something there comes to break the strongest vow,
“Or mine had been my gentle Mattie now.
“When the good lady died—but let me leave
“All gloomy subjects—'t is not good to grieve.”
What with my hand my parents could bestow;
And when he learn'd the truth, in high disdain
He told my fate, and home return'd again.
“Nay, be not grieved, my lovely girl; but few
“Wed the first love, however kind and true;
“Something there comes to break the strongest vow,
“Or mine had been my gentle Mattie now.
“When the good lady died—but let me leave
“All gloomy subjects—'t is not good to grieve.”
Thus the kind Scotchman soothed me: he sustain'd
A father's part, and my submission gain'd:
Then my affection; and he often told
My sterner parent that her heart was cold.
He grew in honour—he obtain'd a name—
And now a favourite with the place became:
To me most gentle, he would condescend
To read and reason, be the guide and friend;
He taught me knowledge of the wholesome kind,
And fill'd with many a useful truth my mind:
Life's common burden daily lighter grew,
And even Frederick lessen'd in my view:
Cold and repulsive as he once appear'd,
He was by every generous act endear'd;
And, above all, that he with ardour fill'd
My soul for truth—a love by him instill'd;
Till my mamma grew jealous of a maid
To whom a husband such attention paid:
Not grossly jealous; but it gave her pain,
And she observed, “He made her daughter vain;
“And what his help to one who must not look
“To gain her bread by poring on a book?”
A father's part, and my submission gain'd:
Then my affection; and he often told
My sterner parent that her heart was cold.
He grew in honour—he obtain'd a name—
And now a favourite with the place became:
To me most gentle, he would condescend
To read and reason, be the guide and friend;
He taught me knowledge of the wholesome kind,
And fill'd with many a useful truth my mind:
Life's common burden daily lighter grew,
And even Frederick lessen'd in my view:
Cold and repulsive as he once appear'd,
He was by every generous act endear'd;
And, above all, that he with ardour fill'd
My soul for truth—a love by him instill'd;
Till my mamma grew jealous of a maid
To whom a husband such attention paid:
Not grossly jealous; but it gave her pain,
And she observed, “He made her daughter vain;
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“To gain her bread by poring on a book?”
This was distress; but this, and all beside,
Was lost in grief—my kinder parent died;
When praised and loved, when joy and health he gave,
He sank lamented to an early grave:
Then love and woe—the parent and the child,
Lost in one grief, allied and reconciled.
Was lost in grief—my kinder parent died;
When praised and loved, when joy and health he gave,
He sank lamented to an early grave:
Then love and woe—the parent and the child,
Lost in one grief, allied and reconciled.
Yet soon a will, that left me half his worth,
To the same spirit gave a second birth:
But 't was a mother's spleen; and she indeed
Was sick, and sad, and had of comfort need;
I watch'd the way her anxious spirit took,
And often found her musing o'er a book;
She changed her dress, her church, her priest, her prayer,
Join'd a new sect, and sought her comforts there;
Some strange coarse people came, and were so free
In their addresses, they offended me;
But my mamma threw all her pride away—
More humble she as more assuming they.
To the same spirit gave a second birth:
But 't was a mother's spleen; and she indeed
Was sick, and sad, and had of comfort need;
I watch'd the way her anxious spirit took,
And often found her musing o'er a book;
She changed her dress, her church, her priest, her prayer,
Join'd a new sect, and sought her comforts there;
Some strange coarse people came, and were so free
In their addresses, they offended me;
But my mamma threw all her pride away—
More humble she as more assuming they.
“And what,” they said, as having power, “are now
“The inward conflicts? do you strive? and how?”
Themselves confessing thoughts so new and wild,
I thought them like the visions of a child.
“Could we,” they ask, “our best good deeds condemn?
“And did we long to touch the garment's hem?
“And was it so with us? for so it was with them
A younger few assumed a softer part,
And tried to shake the fortress of my heart;
To this my pliant mother lent her aid,
And wish'd the winning of her erring maid:
I was constrain'd her female friends to hear,
But suffer'd not a bearded convert near:
Though more than one attempted, with their whine,
And “Sister! sister! how that heart of thine?”—
But this was freedom I for ever check'd:
Mine was a heart no brother could affect.
“The inward conflicts? do you strive? and how?”
Themselves confessing thoughts so new and wild,
I thought them like the visions of a child.
“Could we,” they ask, “our best good deeds condemn?
“And did we long to touch the garment's hem?
“And was it so with us? for so it was with them
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And tried to shake the fortress of my heart;
To this my pliant mother lent her aid,
And wish'd the winning of her erring maid:
I was constrain'd her female friends to hear,
But suffer'd not a bearded convert near:
Though more than one attempted, with their whine,
And “Sister! sister! how that heart of thine?”—
But this was freedom I for ever check'd:
Mine was a heart no brother could affect.
But, “would I hear the preacher, and receive
“The dropping dew of his discourse at eve?
“The soft, sweet words?” I gave two precious hours
To hear of gifts and graces, helps and powers;
When a pale youth, who should dismiss the flock,
Gave to my bosom an electric shock.
While in that act he look'd upon my face
As one in that all-equalising place:
Nor, though he sought me, would he lay aside
Their cold, dead freedom, or their dull, sad pride.
“The dropping dew of his discourse at eve?
“The soft, sweet words?” I gave two precious hours
To hear of gifts and graces, helps and powers;
When a pale youth, who should dismiss the flock,
Gave to my bosom an electric shock.
While in that act he look'd upon my face
As one in that all-equalising place:
Nor, though he sought me, would he lay aside
Their cold, dead freedom, or their dull, sad pride.
Of his conversion he with triumph spoke,
Before he orders from a bishop took:
Then how his father's anger he had braved;
And, safe himself, his erring neighbours saved.
Me he rejoiced a sister to behold
Among the members of his favourite fold;
He had not sought me, the availing call
Demanded all his love, and had it all;
But, now thus met, it must be Heaven's design.—
Indeed! I thought, it never shall be mine;—
Yes, we must wed. He was not rich; and I
Had of the earthly good a mean supply;
But it sufficed. Of his conversion then
He told, and labours in converting men;
For he was chosen all their bands among—
Another Daniel! honour'd, though so young.
Before he orders from a bishop took:
Then how his father's anger he had braved;
And, safe himself, his erring neighbours saved.
Me he rejoiced a sister to behold
Among the members of his favourite fold;
He had not sought me, the availing call
Demanded all his love, and had it all;
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Indeed! I thought, it never shall be mine;—
Yes, we must wed. He was not rich; and I
Had of the earthly good a mean supply;
But it sufficed. Of his conversion then
He told, and labours in converting men;
For he was chosen all their bands among—
Another Daniel! honour'd, though so young.
He call'd me sister: show'd me that he knew
What I possess'd; and told what it would do;
My looks, I judge, express'd my full disdain;
But it was given to the man in vain:
They preach till they are proud, and pride disturbs the brain.
What I possess'd; and told what it would do;
My looks, I judge, express'd my full disdain;
But it was given to the man in vain:
They preach till they are proud, and pride disturbs the brain.
Is this the youth once timid, mild, polite?
How odious now, and sick'ning to the sight!
Proud that he sees, and yet so truly blind,
With all this blight and mildew on the mind!
Amazed, the solemn creature heard me vow,
That I was not disposed to take him now.
How odious now, and sick'ning to the sight!
Proud that he sees, and yet so truly blind,
With all this blight and mildew on the mind!
Amazed, the solemn creature heard me vow,
That I was not disposed to take him now.
“Then, art thou changed, fair maiden? changed thy heart?”
I answer'd, “No; but I perceive thou art.”
I answer'd, “No; but I perceive thou art.”
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |