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

“I was a Ratcliffe, taught and train'd to live
“In all the pride that ancestry can give;
“My only brother, when our mother died,
“Fill'd the dear offices of friend and guide;
“My father early taught us all he dared,
“And for his bolder flights our minds prepared:
“He read the works of deists, every book
“From crabbed Hobbes to courtly Bolingbroke;
“And when we understood not, he would cry,
“‘Let the expressions in your memory lie,

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“‘The light will soon break in, and you will find
“‘Rest for your spirits, and be strong of mind!’

“Alas! however strong, however weak,
“The rest was something we had still to seek!
“He taught us duties of no arduous kind,
“The easy morals of the doubtful mind;
“He bade us all our childish fears control,
“And drive the nurse and grandam from the soul;
“Told us the word of God was all we saw,
“And that the law of nature was his law;
“This law of nature we might find abstruse,
“But gain sufficient for our common use.
“Thus by persuasion, we our duties learn'd,
“And were but little in the cause concern'd.

“We lived in peace, in intellectual ease,
“And thought that virtue was the way to please,
“And pure morality the keeping free
“From all the stains of vulgar villany.
“But Richard, dear enthusiast! shunn'd reproach,
“He let no stain upon his name encroach;
“But fled the hated vice, was kind and just,
“That all must love him, and that all might trust.

“Free, sad discourse was ours; we often sigh'd
“To think we could not in some truths confide;
“Our father's final words gave no content,
“We found not what his self-reliance meant:

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“To fix our faith some grave relations sought,
“Doctrines and creeds of various kind they brought,
“And we as children heard what they as doctors taught.

“Some to the priest referr'd us, in whose book
“No unbeliever could resisting look;
“Others to some great preacher's, who could tame
“The fiercest mind, and set the cold on flame;
“For him no rival in dispute was found
“Whom he could not confute or not confound.

“Some mystics told us of the sign and seal,
“And what the spirit would in time reveal,
“If we had grace to wait, if we had hearts to feel:
“Others, to reason trusting, said, ‘Believe
“‘As she directs, and what she proves receive;’
“While many told us, ‘It is all but guess,
“‘Stick to your church, and calmly acquiesce.’

“Thus, doubting, wearied, hurried, and perplex'd,
“This world was lost in thinking of the next:
“When spoke my brother—‘From my soul I hate
“‘This clash of thought, this ever-doubting state;
“‘For ever seeking certainty, yet blind
“‘In our research, and puzzled when we find.
“‘Could not some spirit, in its kindness, steal
“‘Back to our world, and some dear truth reveal?

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“‘Say there is danger,—if it could be done,
“‘Sure one would venture—I would be the one;
“‘And when a spirit—much as spirits might—
“‘I would to thee communicate my light!’

“I sought my daring brother to oppose,
“But awful gladness in my bosom rose:
“I fear'd my wishes; but through all my frame
“A bold and elevating terror came:
“Yet with dissembling prudence I replied,
“‘Know we the laws that may be thus defied?
“‘Should the free spirit to th' embodied tell
“‘The precious secret, would it not rebel?’
“Yet while I spoke I felt a pleasing glow
“Suffuse my cheek at what I long'd to know;
“And I, like Eve transgressing, grew more bold,
“And wish'd to hear a spirit and behold.

“‘I have no friend,’ said he, ‘to not one man
“‘Can I appear: but, love! to thee I can:
“‘Who first shall die’—I wept, but—‘I agree
“‘To all thou say'st, dear Richard! and would be
“‘The first to wing my way, and bring my news to thee.’

“Long we conversed, but not till we perceived
“A gathering gloom—Our freedom gain'd, we grieved;
“Above the vulgar, as we judged, in mind,
“Below in peace, more sad as more refined;
“'T was joy, 'twas sin—Offenders at the time,
“We felt the hurried pleasure of our crime

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“With pain that crime creates, and this in both—
“Our mind united as the strongest oath.

“O, my dear George! in ceasing to obey,
“Misery and trouble meet us in our way!
“I felt as one intruding in a scene
“Where none should be, where none had ever been;
“Like our first parent, I was new to sin,
“But plainly felt its sufferings begin:
“In nightly dreams I walk'd on soil unsound,
“And in my day-dreams endless error found.

“With this dear brother I was doom'd to part,
“Who, with a husband, shared a troubled heart:
“My lord I honour'd; but I never proved
“The madd'ning joy, the boast of some who loved:
“It was a marriage that our friends profess'd
“Would be most happy, and I acquiesced;
“And we were happy, for our love was calm,
“Not life's delicious essence, but its balm.
“My brother left us—dear unhappy boy!
“He never seem'd to taste of earthly joy,
“Never to live on earth, but ever strove
“To gain some tidings of a world above.

“Parted from him, I found no more to please,
“Ease was my object, and I dwelt in ease;
“And thus in quiet, not perhaps content,
“A year in wedlock, lingering time! was spent

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“One night I slept not, but I courted sleep,
“And forced my thoughts on tracks they could not keep;
“Till nature, wearied in the strife, reposed,
“And deep forgetfulness my wanderings closed.

“My lord was absent—distant from the bed
“A pendent lamp its soften'd lustre shed;
“But there was light that chased away the gloom,
“And brought to view each object in the room:
“These I observed ere yet I sunk in sleep,
“That, if disturb'd not, had been long and deep.

“I was awaken'd by some being nigh,
“It seem'd some voice, and gave a timid cry,—
“When sounds, that I describe not, slowly broke
“On my attention—‘Be composed, and look!’—
“I strove, and I succeeded; look'd with awe,
“But yet with firmness, and my brother saw.

“George, why that smile?—By all that God has done,
“By the great Spirit, by the blessed Son,
“By the one holy Three, by the thrice holy One,
“I saw my brother,—saw him by my bed,
“And every doubt in full conviction fled!—
“It was his own mild spirit—He awhile
“Waited my calmness with benignant smile;
“So softly shines the veiled sun, till past
“The cloud, and light upon the world is cast:
“That look composed and soften'd I survey'd,
“And met the glance fraternal less afraid;

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“Though in those looks was something of command,
“And traits of what I fear'd to understand.

“Then spoke the spirit—George, I pray, attend—
“‘First, let all doubts of thy religion end—
“‘The word reveal'd is true: enquire no more,
“‘Believe in meekness, and with thanks adore:
“‘Thy priest attend, but not in all rely,
“‘And to objectors seek for no reply:
“‘Truth, doubt, and error, will be mix'd below—
“‘Be thou content the greater truths to know,
“‘And in obedience rest thee—For thy life
“‘Thou needest counsel—now a happy wife,
“‘A widow soon! and then, my sister, then
“‘Think not of marriage, think no more of men;—
“‘Life will have comforts; thou wilt much enjoy
“‘Of moderate good, then do not this destroy;
“‘Fear much, and wed no more; by passion led,
“‘Shouldst thou again’—Art thou attending?—’wed,
“‘Care in thy ways will growl, and anguish haunt thy bed:
“‘A brother's warning on thy heart engrave:
“‘Thou art a mistress—then be not a slave!
“‘Shouldst thou again that hand in fondness give,
“‘What life of misery art thou doom'd to live!
“‘How wilt thou weep, lament, implore, complain!
“‘How wilt thou meet derision and disdain!
“‘And pray to Heaven in doubt, and kneel to man in vain!

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“‘Thou read'st of woes to tender bosoms sent—
“‘Thine shall with tenfold agony be rent;
“‘Increase of anguish shall new years bestow,
“‘Pain shall on thought and grief on reason grow,
“‘And this th' advice I give increase the ill I show.’

“‘A second marriage!—No!—by all that's dear!’
“I cried aloud—The spirit bade me hear.
“‘There will be trial,—how I must not say,
“‘Perhaps I cannot—listen, and obey!—
“‘Free is thy will—th' event I cannot see,
“‘Distinctly cannot, but thy will is free;
“‘Come, weep not, sister—spirits can but guess,
“‘And not ordain—but do not wed distress;
“‘For who would rashly venture on a snare?’

“‘I swear!’ I answer'd.—‘No, thou must not swear,’
“He said, or I had sworn; but still the vow
“Was past, was in my mind, and there is now:
“Never! O, never:—Why that sullen air?
“Think'st thou—ungenerous!—I would wed despair?

“Was it not told me thus?—and then I cried,
“‘Art thou in bliss?’—but nothing he replied,
“Save of my fate, for that he came to show,
“Nor of aught else permitted me to know.
“‘Forewarn'd, forearm thee, and thy way pursue,
“‘Safe, if thou wilt, not flowery—now, adieu!’

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“‘Nay, go not thus,’ I cried, ‘for this will seem
“‘The work of sleep, a mere impressive dream;
“‘Give me some token, that I may indeed
“‘From the suggestions of my doubts be freed!’

“‘Be this a token—ere the week be fled
“‘Shall tidings greet thee from the newly dead.’

“‘Nay, but,’ I said, with courage not my own,
“‘O! be some signal of thy presence shown;
“‘Let not this visit with the rising day
“‘Pass, and be melted like a dream away.’

“‘O, woman! woman! ever anxious still
“‘To gain the knowledge, not to curb the will!
“‘Have I not promised?—Child of sin, attend—
“‘Make not a lying spirit of thy friend:
“‘Give me thy hand!’—I gave it, for my soul
“Was now grown ardent, and above control;
“Eager I stretch'd it forth, and felt the hold
“Of shadowy fingers, more than icy cold:
“A nameless pressure on my wrist was made,
“And instant vanish'd the beloved shade!
“Strange it will seem, but, ere the morning came,
“I slept, nor felt disorder in my frame:
“Then came a dream—I saw my father's shade,
“But not with awe like that my brother's made;
“And he began—‘What! made a convert, child?
“‘Have they my favourite by their creed beguiled?
“‘Thy brother's weakness I could well foresee,
“‘But had, my girl, more confidence in thee:

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“‘Art thou, indeed, before their ark to bow?
“‘I smiled before, but I am angry now:
“‘Thee will they bind by threats, and thou wilt shake
“‘At tales of terror that the miscreants make:
“‘Between the bigot and enthusiast led,
“‘Thou hast a world of miseries to dread:
“‘Think for thyself, nor let the knaves or fools
“‘Rob thee of reason, and prescribe thee rules.’

“Soon as I woke, and could my thoughts collect,
“What can I think, I cried, or what reject?
“Was it my brother? Aid me, power divine!
“Have I not seen him, left he not a sign?
“Did I not then the placid features trace
“That now remain—the air, the eye, the face?
“And then my father—but how different seem
“These visitations—this, indeed, a dream!

“Then for that token on my wrist—'tis here,
“And very slight to you it must appear;
“Here, I'll withdraw the bracelet—'tis a speck!
“No more! but 'tis upon my life a check.”—

“O! lovely all, and like its sister arm!
“Call this a check, dear lady? 'tis a charm—
“A slight, an accidental mark—no more.”—
“Slight as it is, it was not there before:
“Then was there weakness, and I bound it—Nay!
“This is infringement—take those lips away!

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“On the fourth day came letters, and I cried,
“Richard is dead, and named the day he died:
“A proof of knowledge, true! but one, alas! of pride.
“The signs to me were brought, and not my lord,
“But I impatient waited not the word;
“And much he marvell'd, reading of the night
“In which th' immortal spirit took its flight.

“Yes! I beheld my brother at my bed,
“The hour he died! the instant he was dead—
“His presence now I see! now trace him as he fled.

“Ah! fly me, George, in very pity, fly;
“Thee I reject, but yield thee reasons why;
“Our fate forbids,—the counsel Heaven has sent
“We must adopt, or grievously repent;
“And I adopt”—George humbly bow'd, and sigh'd,
But, lost in thought, he look'd not nor replied;
Yet feebly utter'd in his sad adieu,
“I must not doubt thy truth, but perish if thou'rt true.”
But when he thought alone, his terror gone
Of the strange story, better views came on.

“Nay, my enfeebled heart, be not dismay'd!
“A boy again, am I of ghosts afraid?
“Does she believe it? Say she does believe;
“Is she not born of error and of Eve?
“Oh! there is lively hope I may the cause retrieve.

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“‘If you re-wed’—exclaim'd the Ghost—For what
“Puts he the case, if marry she will not?
“He knows her fate—but what am I about?
“Do I believe?—'t is certain I have doubt,
“And so has she,—what therefore will she do?
“She the predicted fortune will pursue,
“And by th' event will judge if her strange dream was true;
“The strong temptation to her thought applied
“Will gain new strength, and will not be denied;
“The very threat against the thing we love
“Will the vex'd spirit to resistance move;
“With vows to virtue weakness will begin,
“And fears of sinning let in thoughts of sin.’

Strong in her sense of weakness, now withdrew
The cautious lady from the lover's view;
But she perceived the looks of all were changed,—
Her kind old friends grew peevish and estranged:
A fretful spirit reign'd, and discontent
From room to room in sullen silence went;
And the kind widow was distress'd at heart
To think that she no comfort could impart:
“But he will go,” she said, “and he will strive
“In fields of glorious energy to drive
“Love from his bosom.—Yes, I then may stay,
‘And all will thank me on a future day.”

So judged the lady, nor appear'd to grieve,
Till the young soldier came to take his leave;

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But not of all assembled—No! he found
His gentle sisters all in sorrow drown'd;
With many a shaken hand, and many a kiss,
He cried, “Farewell! a solemn business this;
“Nay, Susan, Sophy!—heaven and earth, my dears!
“I am a soldier—what do I with tears?”

He sought his parents;—they together walk'd,
And of their son, his views and dangers, talk'd;
They knew not how to blame their friend, but still
They murmur'd, “She may save us if she will:
“Were not these visions working in her mind
“Strange things—'tis in her nature to be kind.”

Their son appear'd.—He soothed them, and was bless'd,
But still the fondness of his soul confess'd.—
And where the lady?—To her room retired!
“Now show, dear son, the courage she required.”

George bow'd in silence, trying for assent
To his hard fate, and to his trial went:
Fond, but yet fix'd, he found her in her room;
Firm, and yet fearful, she beheld him come:
Nor sought he favour now—No! he would meet his doom.

“Farewell! and, Madam, I beseech you pray
“That this sad spirit soon may pass away;
“That sword or ball would to the dust restore
“This body, that the soul may grieve no more

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“For love rejected.—O! that I could quit
“The life I lothe, who am for nothing fit,
“No, not to die!”—“Unhappy, wilt thou make
“The house all wretched for thy passion's sake?
“And most its grieving object?”—

“Grieving?—No!
“Or as a conqueror mourns a dying foe,
“That makes his triumph sure.—Couldst thou deplore
“The evil done, the pain would be no more;
“But an accursed dream has steel'd thy breast,
“And all the woman in thy soul suppress'd.”—

“Oh! it was vision, George; a vision true
“As ever seer or holy prophet knew.”—

“Can spirits, lady, though they might alarm,
“Make an impression on that lovely arm?
“A little cold the cause, a little heat,
“Or vein minute, or artery's morbid beat,
“Even beauty these admit.”—

“I did behold
“My brother's form.”—

“Yes, so thy Fancy told,
“When in the morning she her work survey'd,
“And call'd the doubtful memory to her aid.”—

“Nay, think! the night he died—the very night!”—
“'T is very true, and so perchance he might,
“But in thy mind—not, lady, in thy sight!

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“Thou wert not well; forms delicately made
“These dreams and fancies easily invade;
“The mind and body feel the slow disease,
“And dreams are what the troubled fancy sees.”—
“O! but how strange that all should be combined!”—
“True; but such combinations we may find;
“A dream's predicted number gain'd a prize,
“Yet dreams make no impression on the wise,
“Though some chance good, some lucky gain may rise.”—

“O! but those words, that voice so truly known!”—
“No doubt, dear lady, they were all thine own;
“Memory for thee thy brother's form portray'd;
“It was thy fear the awful warning made:
“Thy former doubts of a religious kind
“Account for all these wanderings of the mind.”—

“But then, how different when my father came,
“These could not in their nature be the same!”—

“Yes, all are dreams; but some as we awake
“Fly off at once, and no impression make;
“Others are felt, and ere they quit the brain
“Make such impression that they come again;
“As half familiar thoughts, and half unknown,
“And scarcely recollected as our own;
“For half a day abide some vulgar dreams,
“And give our grandams and our nurses themes;
“Others, more strong, abiding figures draw
“Upon the brain, and we assert ‘I saw;’

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“And then the fancy on the organs place
“A powerful likeness of a form and face.

“Yet more—in some strong passion's troubled reign,
“Or when the fever'd blood inflames the brain,
“At once the outward and the inward eye
“The real object and the fancied spy;
“The eye is open, and the sense is true,
“And therefore they the outward object view;
“But while the real sense is fix'd on these,
“The power within its own creation sees;
“And these, when mingled in the mind, create
“Those striking visions which our dreamers state;
“For knowing that is true that met the sight,
“They think the judgment of the fancy right.

“Your frequent talk of dreams has made me turn
“My mind on them, and these the facts I learn.
“Or should you say, 't is not in us to take
“Heed in both ways, to sleep and be awake,
“Perhaps the things by eye and mind survey'd
“Are in their quick alternate efforts made;
“For by this mixture of the truth, the dream
“Will in the morning fresh and vivid seem.

“Dreams are like portraits, and we find they please
“Because they are confess'd resemblances;
“But those strange night-mare visions we compare
“To waxen figures—they too real are,
“Too much a very truth, and are so just
“To life and death, they pain us or disgust.

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“Hence from your mind these idle visions shake,
“And O! my love, to happiness awake!”—

“It was a warning, tempter! from the dead;
“And, wedding thee, I should to misery wed!”

“False and injurious! What! unjust to thee?
“O! hear the vows of Love—it cannot be;
“What! I forbear to bless thee—I forego
“That first great blessing of existence? No!
“Did every ghost that terror saw arise
“With such prediction, I should say it lies:
“But none there are—a mighty gulf between
“Hides the ideal world from objects seen;
“We know not where unbodied spirits dwell,
“But this we know, they are invisible;—
“Yet I have one that fain would dwell with thee,
“And always with thy purer spirit be.”—

“O! leave me, George!”—

“To take the field, and die,
“So leave thee, Lady? Yes, I will comply;
“Thou art too far above me—ghosts withstand
“My hopes in vain, but riches guard thy hand,
“For I am poor—affection and a heart
“To thee devoted, I but these impart;
“Then bid me go, I will thy words obey,
“But let not visions drive thy friend away.”—

“Hear me, O! hear me—shall I wed my son?”—
“I am in fondness and obedience one;

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“And I will reverence, honour, love, adore,
“Be all that fondest sons can be—and more;
“And shall thy son, if such he be, proceed
“To fierce encounters, and in battle bleed?
“No: thou canst weep!”—

“O! leave me, I entreat;
“Leave me a moment—we shall quickly meet.”—

“No! here I kneel, a beggar at thy feet.”—
He said, and knelt—with accents, softer still,
He woo'd the weakness of a failing will,
And erring judgment—took her hand, and cried,
“Withdraw it not!—O! let it thus abide,
“Pledge of thy love—upon thy act depend
“My joy, my hope,—thus they begin or end!
“Withdraw it not.”—He saw her looks express'd
Favour and grace—the hand was firmer press'd;
Signs of opposing fear no more were shown,
And, as he press'd, he felt it was his own.

Soon through the house was known the glad assent,
The night so dreaded was in comfort spent;
War was no more, the destined knot was tied,
And the fond widow made a fearful bride.