 | New Poems by George Crabbe |  |
Where am I now?
Where am I now? I slept to wake Again,
And to forget. O now I recollect.
I'm in a Chaise that takes me o'er a Plain,
Of Eaton Basset, where my Friends expect
That I shall sleep, & where they now collect,
Three & our Host. Ah! joyful shall we meet,
And there discarding Thoughts of Party, Sect,
We shall at once be merry & discreet,
Our Moments all will tell, & every one be Sweet.
And to forget. O now I recollect.
I'm in a Chaise that takes me o'er a Plain,
Of Eaton Basset, where my Friends expect
That I shall sleep, & where they now collect,
Three & our Host. Ah! joyful shall we meet,
And there discarding Thoughts of Party, Sect,
We shall at once be merry & discreet,
Our Moments all will tell, & every one be Sweet.
But whither, Thomas, do you drive ye Chaise
In this deep Road, with Oaks on either Side,
And these tall stately Trees, on wh the Rays
Of the Moon fall? They have their foliage dyed
With that sweet Light! that now the Branches hide
And there admit! & as we swiftly move,
The shifting Scenes approach & past us glide,
And the Mind wanders in her Worlds above.
In this deep Road, with Oaks on either Side,
And these tall stately Trees, on wh the Rays
Of the Moon fall? They have their foliage dyed
With that sweet Light! that now the Branches hide
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The shifting Scenes approach & past us glide,
And the Mind wanders in her Worlds above.
But what are these that stand majestic here,
Columns & proud Entablatures, grown o'er
With solemn Ivy, Ruins they appear
Of lordly Hall & Palace Walls of Yore,
Rear'd by Earth's Giant Children, but no more
Are found such Works, like that of Istakar,
Where Vathec, doom'd for countless Times to dwell,
Saw in ye gloomy Light that shone from far
Hell's fallen Host, & him, the Prince of Hell.
Columns & proud Entablatures, grown o'er
With solemn Ivy, Ruins they appear
Of lordly Hall & Palace Walls of Yore,
Rear'd by Earth's Giant Children, but no more
Are found such Works, like that of Istakar,
Where Vathec, doom'd for countless Times to dwell,
Saw in ye gloomy Light that shone from far
Hell's fallen Host, & him, the Prince of Hell.
Still on we drove, & still we drove,
Like Thomas true of Ercledom,
When He behind his Elfin Love
Rode fast to her delicious Home,
Where Satan once a Year wd come
To fetch some Guest to his Abode,
From fairy Light to fatal Gloom,
So they rode on, & still they rode.
Like Thomas true of Ercledom,
When He behind his Elfin Love
Rode fast to her delicious Home,
Where Satan once a Year wd come
To fetch some Guest to his Abode,
From fairy Light to fatal Gloom,
So they rode on, & still they rode.
And now we pass a wide, wild Heath wh Speed,
Swift, steddy, smooth, as if an arrow glided;
On either Part Tall Trees & Woods resede,
And glad we take our Way like Men decided,
By not a fear withheld or Doubt divided.
What Views are here! what Prospects rd us rising?
Yet dare we go unseen, unaw'd, unguided,
And fear no Ill, for we are Enterprising.
Swift, steddy, smooth, as if an arrow glided;
On either Part Tall Trees & Woods resede,
And glad we take our Way like Men decided,
By not a fear withheld or Doubt divided.
What Views are here! what Prospects rd us rising?
Yet dare we go unseen, unaw'd, unguided,
And fear no Ill, for we are Enterprising.
And now is chang'd ye Scene, & We are come
Where numerous Lights are bursting on ye View
From Every Window of a mighty Dome,
And Every Light is of a lovely Hue,
Rich rosy red! or fair celestial blue!
Good Heav'n, what brings us to this fairy Scene?
Let me be calm & patient—is it true?
Serene is all ard, be thou my Soul serene.
Where numerous Lights are bursting on ye View
From Every Window of a mighty Dome,
And Every Light is of a lovely Hue,
Rich rosy red! or fair celestial blue!
Good Heav'n, what brings us to this fairy Scene?
Let me be calm & patient—is it true?
Serene is all ard, be thou my Soul serene.
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It is some Mansion's noble Hall.
Am I awake? A thousand Lights
Burst from the antique Windows all,
And there is Music that excites
The very Deer! & on the Night's
Soft Air pours Sweetness! all divine.
Say, is it one of Fancy's flights?
Or is it Madness?—is it mine?
Am I awake? A thousand Lights
Burst from the antique Windows all,
And there is Music that excites
The very Deer! & on the Night's
Soft Air pours Sweetness! all divine.
Say, is it one of Fancy's flights?
Or is it Madness?—is it mine?
We enter in a noble Park,
Where there is Water, wide and clear;
Tall Elms, like Giants, in the Dark
Spread their broad Shoulders far & near;
Lo! bolting from their Haunts, the Deer,
Behind the Statues dimly seen,
What Objects for increasing Fear!
And mean they ought? What can they mean?
Where there is Water, wide and clear;
Tall Elms, like Giants, in the Dark
Spread their broad Shoulders far & near;
Lo! bolting from their Haunts, the Deer,
Behind the Statues dimly seen,
What Objects for increasing Fear!
And mean they ought? What can they mean?
The Carriage stops before the Gate.
I must Enquire—tho' much afraid—
Where am I? 'Tis an House of State!
Hark! to ye Music, sweetly play'd.
The gentle Host will give me Aid!
Tho' he has Friends to entertain—
For him [I] ask—& am obey'd!
I must Enquire—tho' much afraid—
Where am I? 'Tis an House of State!
Hark! to ye Music, sweetly play'd.
The gentle Host will give me Aid!
Tho' he has Friends to entertain—
For him [I] ask—& am obey'd!
& I will now my Case explain.
And I am welcome. O what Ease,
What Pleasure in this noble Seat,
Such Means each lively Sense to please,
Such Pleasures so refin'd & sweet!
How came I this kind fate to meet?
Wines, fruits & flowers, bright, fresh & fair,
And Notes that guide the fairy feet
Of Nymphs divine, who dance our Air.
And I am welcome. O what Ease,
What Pleasure in this noble Seat,
Such Means each lively Sense to please,
Such Pleasures so refin'd & sweet!
How came I this kind fate to meet?
Wines, fruits & flowers, bright, fresh & fair,
And Notes that guide the fairy feet
Of Nymphs divine, who dance our Air.
What Softness in their swimming Grace,
With which they pass me gazing by,
What Beauty hightened in ye face,
That Music, Motion, Joy supply,
What Meaning in ye burning Eye,
That sheds a Lustre on ye Night!
Ah, let me the Enchantment fly,
Or I shall loose ye Power of flight—
With which they pass me gazing by,
What Beauty hightened in ye face,
That Music, Motion, Joy supply,
What Meaning in ye burning Eye,
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Ah, let me the Enchantment fly,
Or I shall loose ye Power of flight—
I've heard ye Notes that win the Ear,
But these enchain the softened heart!
I've Ladies seen, to Lovers dear,
But these a mad'ning force impart!
Their every Glance is Cupid's Dart,
Their every Look their Man secure;
Let others talk of wounds that smart,
We only feel the Smiles that Cure.—
But these enchain the softened heart!
I've Ladies seen, to Lovers dear,
But these a mad'ning force impart!
Their every Glance is Cupid's Dart,
Their every Look their Man secure;
Let others talk of wounds that smart,
We only feel the Smiles that Cure.—
The Room is large, but filled with Love
And Joy, in many a spritely Pair—
'Twas thus!—'tis gone! so transcient prove
Man's happy Moments, few & fair!
Strange! all are vanished as in Air!
Melted & mixed!—but who is He,
The Mansion's Lord? I'll make my Prayer
For my Retreat—I wd be free—
And Joy, in many a spritely Pair—
'Twas thus!—'tis gone! so transcient prove
Man's happy Moments, few & fair!
Strange! all are vanished as in Air!
Melted & mixed!—but who is He,
The Mansion's Lord? I'll make my Prayer
For my Retreat—I wd be free—
But how is this? No Lights are here,
Save One, suspended in ye Gloom!
The Door is clos'd, ye Air severe
Up ye dark Passage seems to come,
The Music ceases, all is Dumb,
All dismal, dreary! doleful, dark!
Friend, shew me to yr Master's Room!
What is it breaks this Silence? Hark!
Save One, suspended in ye Gloom!
The Door is clos'd, ye Air severe
Up ye dark Passage seems to come,
The Music ceases, all is Dumb,
All dismal, dreary! doleful, dark!
Friend, shew me to yr Master's Room!
What is it breaks this Silence? Hark!
Is it a Voice, or idle Sound,
Half real! Half the Work of Dread?
Loud strikes a Bell! with Tone profound,
As tolling for the newly dead.
Hark! is there not th' approaching Tread
Of some light foot? I fear ye Hand
Of Foe unseen! Where am I led?
I'll go no further!—Here I stand.
Half real! Half the Work of Dread?
Loud strikes a Bell! with Tone profound,
As tolling for the newly dead.
Hark! is there not th' approaching Tread
Of some light foot? I fear ye Hand
Of Foe unseen! Where am I led?
I'll go no further!—Here I stand.
I said, but I was hurried on
Thro' Passages that chill'd my Blood,
And now when every Light was gone,
At a small unclosed Door I stood,
And gently knoct, & thence ensued
A melancholy Voice & sweet:
“Thou hast thy Destiny persued;
“'Tis right, 'tis fit that we sd meet.”
Thro' Passages that chill'd my Blood,
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At a small unclosed Door I stood,
And gently knoct, & thence ensued
A melancholy Voice & sweet:
“Thou hast thy Destiny persued;
“'Tis right, 'tis fit that we sd meet.”
“Enter!” Alas, I doubted much,
But yet I entered! & espied
A Monk, or One appearing such.
He sat 2 antique Lamps beside,
And said with condescending pride
To his now half receding Guest:
“Come, Child of Dust, in me confide!
“I know thee well! I give thee rest.”
But yet I entered! & espied
A Monk, or One appearing such.
He sat 2 antique Lamps beside,
And said with condescending pride
To his now half receding Guest:
“Come, Child of Dust, in me confide!
“I know thee well! I give thee rest.”
He said, moreover: “Take a Seat.”
For kind he seem'd! but nothing free.
A Monk, I say, but not a Cheat;
A real Monk he cd not be,
But Satan's Self, when sick, could flee
To such Disguise, as tells ye Jest:
“The Devil a Monk in fact was he,
“But Devil like the State profest.”
For kind he seem'd! but nothing free.
A Monk, I say, but not a Cheat;
A real Monk he cd not be,
But Satan's Self, when sick, could flee
To such Disguise, as tells ye Jest:
“The Devil a Monk in fact was he,
“But Devil like the State profest.”
When I was seated, then began
My grave cold Host—“Time runs apace
“With your poor fading Tribes of Man;
“How quickly ends your idle Race!
“Come! now your Purpose let us trace,
“And let me help you while I may,
“The golden Minutes giv'n Embrace,
“And take my Council! Child of Clay!”
My grave cold Host—“Time runs apace
“With your poor fading Tribes of Man;
“How quickly ends your idle Race!
“Come! now your Purpose let us trace,
“And let me help you while I may,
“The golden Minutes giv'n Embrace,
“And take my Council! Child of Clay!”
“Who art thou!—who can read the Mind?
“Disturber of my troubled Brain,
“Aid me, in what?—O! let me find
“My Way! & seek my Guide Again!”—
“Hence! all this Folly! weak & vain
“Thy coward Purpose—hear me speak!
“I can thy inmost Thought explain,
“And what thy warmest wishes seek!—”
“Disturber of my troubled Brain,
“Aid me, in what?—O! let me find
“My Way! & seek my Guide Again!”—
“Hence! all this Folly! weak & vain
“Thy coward Purpose—hear me speak!
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“And what thy warmest wishes seek!—”
“Is there not One cd give thee Joy?
“Thou seest my Knowledge of thy Heart.
“But Fortune is, like Beauty, coy!
“What wouldst thou give me to impart
“A Charm! the produce of my Art,
“That wd thy every Wish fulfil?
“Nay! Child of Folly! do not start,
“As if my Aid had ought of ill.”
“Thou seest my Knowledge of thy Heart.
“But Fortune is, like Beauty, coy!
“What wouldst thou give me to impart
“A Charm! the produce of my Art,
“That wd thy every Wish fulfil?
“Nay! Child of Folly! do not start,
“As if my Aid had ought of ill.”
“Thou knowst there is a strong Desire!
“That lives in thy unquiet Breast.
“And what, fond Wretch, do I require?
“I only speak to give thee rest!
“Why lookst thou fearful, foolish Guest?
“And wishing, dar'st not take thy Will?”
“O! let me go!”, I cried! distress'd.
“Base Worm”, he said, “and blind—be still.”
“That lives in thy unquiet Breast.
“And what, fond Wretch, do I require?
“I only speak to give thee rest!
“Why lookst thou fearful, foolish Guest?
“And wishing, dar'st not take thy Will?”
“O! let me go!”, I cried! distress'd.
“Base Worm”, he said, “and blind—be still.”
“It is the Tempter!”, so I thought!
“As if he knew it, he replied!:
“Thinkst thou, poor Wretch, thy Soul is sought?
“Thy Soul! O! Man with reptile pride!
“What is it worth?—I wish to Guide
“Thy Way to peace! thy Heart to bless.
“Throw off this folly, & confide
“In One!—Thou hast no Chance but this.”
“As if he knew it, he replied!:
“Thinkst thou, poor Wretch, thy Soul is sought?
“Thy Soul! O! Man with reptile pride!
“What is it worth?—I wish to Guide
“Thy Way to peace! thy Heart to bless.
“Throw off this folly, & confide
“In One!—Thou hast no Chance but this.”
“I know thy Thoughts; thou thinkst yt I am He,
“The mighty Angel who from Heaven fell!
“O! Worm to think that I so great sd be;
“O! fool to judge that He who cd rebell
“Against ye highest! wd with Mortals dwell,
“And tempt an abject Being, such as thou!
“Would condescend thy future fate to tell,
“Or conversation with such Worm allow.”
“The mighty Angel who from Heaven fell!
“O! Worm to think that I so great sd be;
“O! fool to judge that He who cd rebell
“Against ye highest! wd with Mortals dwell,
“And tempt an abject Being, such as thou!
“Would condescend thy future fate to tell,
“Or conversation with such Worm allow.”
“I am a joyous Spirit, & I love
“To give to wretched Man his happy Day!
“I counsel that wh Wisdom will approve.
“Enjoy thy Wish; To Enjoy is to obey.
“I only point ye necessary Way!
“Consent to one, & have thy utmost Will.
“Thou'rt poor & sad; be happy & be gay.
“Consent to me, & I thy Any wish fulfil.”
“To give to wretched Man his happy Day!
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“Enjoy thy Wish; To Enjoy is to obey.
“I only point ye necessary Way!
“Consent to one, & have thy utmost Will.
“Thou'rt poor & sad; be happy & be gay.
“Consent to me, & I thy Any wish fulfil.”
“Thou hast thy powerful Wishes, well I know,
“And 'tis my pleasure Men like thee to aid.
“I hate the vulgar minded Crew, the low,
“Who of Temptation, Wretches, are afraid,
“By Superstition of their own betrayed,
“But thou hast Sense & Courage, noble Pride,
“Such as kind Spirits ever have obeyed;
“And I am One; do let me be thy Guide.”
“And 'tis my pleasure Men like thee to aid.
“I hate the vulgar minded Crew, the low,
“Who of Temptation, Wretches, are afraid,
“By Superstition of their own betrayed,
“But thou hast Sense & Courage, noble Pride,
“Such as kind Spirits ever have obeyed;
“And I am One; do let me be thy Guide.”
“Satan, avaunt!” I sd, & with a loud
Burst of malicious Laughter he was gone,
And I was left, but with me was a Crowd
Of mocking Spirits!—visible not one!
“Where can I go?”, I said, “What can be done?”
Hisses & Laughter mingled mock'd my Doubt.
I knew not what to seek or what to shun,
But wish'd my Way to find & I was out!
Within my Carriage! & Away we run
From the wild Mirth & the infernal Rout.
Burst of malicious Laughter he was gone,
And I was left, but with me was a Crowd
Of mocking Spirits!—visible not one!
“Where can I go?”, I said, “What can be done?”
Hisses & Laughter mingled mock'd my Doubt.
I knew not what to seek or what to shun,
But wish'd my Way to find & I was out!
Within my Carriage! & Away we run
From the wild Mirth & the infernal Rout.
And now we hurry thro' ye Park,
Like Lenora in dark Midnight,
Who, boldly mounted in her Sark
On fiery Steed with fleshless Knight,
Intent on Love! & wild with fright,
Trampt, Trampt. The Hills behind them flee,
They leave ye Land, & in their flight
Splash, Splash, Acros ye restless Sea.
Like Lenora in dark Midnight,
Who, boldly mounted in her Sark
On fiery Steed with fleshless Knight,
Intent on Love! & wild with fright,
Trampt, Trampt. The Hills behind them flee,
They leave ye Land, & in their flight
Splash, Splash, Acros ye restless Sea.
Above a Bridge my Carriage flies,
Above a River broad & slow,
Or is it not the Night fogs rise
Above the Fen that spreds below?
Hark, do not sullen Waters flow
With Murmur indistinct?—beside,
In the Salt Sprigs, ye Rushes grow,
That bend beneath the deep'ning Tide.
Above a River broad & slow,
Or is it not the Night fogs rise
Above the Fen that spreds below?
Hark, do not sullen Waters flow
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In the Salt Sprigs, ye Rushes grow,
That bend beneath the deep'ning Tide.
What do I see? a long & solemn Train
Of Monks & Nuns! At Midnight on their way,
Like, as I read, in Portugal or Spain—
A solemn funeral! a large Display!
Of Pomp, & Sadness!—for they choose not Day
To expose the Proud Procession, & they go
In this dark hour! their melancholy Way,
A long, long Train of Vanity & Woe.
Of Monks & Nuns! At Midnight on their way,
Like, as I read, in Portugal or Spain—
A solemn funeral! a large Display!
Of Pomp, & Sadness!—for they choose not Day
To expose the Proud Procession, & they go
In this dark hour! their melancholy Way,
A long, long Train of Vanity & Woe.
| New Poems by George Crabbe | |