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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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Let mortal frailty judge how mortals frail
Thus in their strongest resolutions fail,
And though we blame, our pity will prevail.

154

Yet, with that Ghost—for so she thought—in view!
When she believed that all he told was true;
When every threat was to her mind recall'd,
Till it became affrighten'd and appall'd;
When Reason pleaded, Think! forbear! refrain!
And when, though trifling, stood that mystic stain,
Predictions, warnings, threats, were present all in vain.
Th' exulting youth a mighty conqueror rose,
And who hereafter shall his will oppose?
Such is our tale; but we must yet attend
Our weak, kind widow to her journey's end;
Upon her death-bed laid, confessing to a friend
Her full belief, for to the hour she died
This she profess'd:—
“The truth I must not hide,
“It was my brother's form, and in the night he died:
“In sorrow and in shame has pass'd my time,
“All I have suffer'd follow from my crime;

155

“I sinn'd with warning—when I gave my hand
“A power within said, urgently,—Withstand!
“And I resisted—O! my God, what shame,
“What years of torment from that frailty came!
“That husband-son!—I will my fault review
“What did he not that men or monsters do?
“His day of love, a brief autumnal day,
“Ev'n in its dawning hasten'd to decay;
“Doom'd from our odious union to behold
“How cold he grew, and then how worse than cold;
“Eager he sought me, eagerly to shun,
“Kneeling he woo'd me, but he scorn'd me, won;
“The tears he caused served only to provoke
“His wicked insult o'er the heart he broke;
“My fond compliance served him for a jest,
“And sharpen'd scorn—‘I ought to be distress'd;
“‘Why did I not with my chaste ghost comply!’
“And with upbraiding scorn he told me why.
“O! there was grossness in his soul: his mind
“Could not be raised, nor soften'd, nor refined.
“Twice he departed in his rage, and went
“I know not where, nor how his days were spent;
“Twice he return'd a suppliant wretch, and craved,
“Mean as profuse, the trifle I had saved.
“I have had wounds, and some that never heal,
“What bodies suffer, and what spirits feel;
“But he is gone who gave them, he is fled
“To his account! and my revenge is dead:

156

“Yet is it duty, though with shame, to give
“My sex a lesson—let my story live;
“For if no ghost the promised visit paid,
“Still was a deep and strong impression made,
“That wisdom had approved, and prudence had obey'd;
“But from another world that warning came,
“And O! in this be ended all my shame!
“Like the first being of my sex I fell,
“Tempted, and with the tempter doom'd to dwell—
“He was the master-fiend, and where he reign'd was hell.”