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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| XXI. |
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| XXII. |
 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe |  |
251
There was a Widow in the village known
To our good Squire, and he had favour shown
By frequent bounty.—She as usual came,
And Richard saw the worn and weary frame,
Pale cheek, and eye subdued, of her whose mind
Was grateful still, and glad a friend to find,
Though to the world long since and all its hopes resign'd:
Her easy form, in rustic neatness clad,
Was pleasing still! but she for ever sad.
To our good Squire, and he had favour shown
By frequent bounty.—She as usual came,
And Richard saw the worn and weary frame,
Pale cheek, and eye subdued, of her whose mind
Was grateful still, and glad a friend to find,
Though to the world long since and all its hopes resign'd:
Her easy form, in rustic neatness clad,
Was pleasing still! but she for ever sad.
“Deep is her grief!” said Richard,—“truly deep,
“And very still, and therefore seems to sleep;
“To borrow simile, to paint her woes,
“Theirs, like the river's motion, seems repose,
“Making no petty murmuring,—settled slow,
“They never waste, they never overflow.
“Rachel is one of those—for there are some
“Who look for nothing in their days to come,
“No good nor evil, neither hope nor fear,
“Nothing remains or cheerful or severe;
“One day is like the past, the year's sweet prime
“Like the sad fall,—for Rachel heeds not time:
“Nothing remains to agitate her breast,
“Spent is the tempest, and the sky at rest;
“But while it raged her peace its ruin met,
“And now the sun is on her prospects set;—
“Leave her, and let us her distress explore,
“She heeds it not—she has been left before.”
“And very still, and therefore seems to sleep;
“To borrow simile, to paint her woes,
“Theirs, like the river's motion, seems repose,
“Making no petty murmuring,—settled slow,
“They never waste, they never overflow.
252
“Who look for nothing in their days to come,
“No good nor evil, neither hope nor fear,
“Nothing remains or cheerful or severe;
“One day is like the past, the year's sweet prime
“Like the sad fall,—for Rachel heeds not time:
“Nothing remains to agitate her breast,
“Spent is the tempest, and the sky at rest;
“But while it raged her peace its ruin met,
“And now the sun is on her prospects set;—
“Leave her, and let us her distress explore,
“She heeds it not—she has been left before.”
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |