 | New Poems by George Crabbe |  |
Poins
A gay, young Man, with Spirits strong & high,Was listening to his widowed Mother's Sigh,
The well-known Prelude to that grave Discourse,
Which he expected as a Thing of Course,
And heard with due Respect; for he was One
Who felt & owned the Duty of a Son,
And prized that Love which sometimes gave him Pain
That so much Wisdom was bestowed in vain.
Among his Friends, for so he used to call
All his Companions, for he loved them All,
I left a Youth, who in his twentieth Year,
Had his Associates but had not his Peer.
The Lasses all addresst him as a Man,
But when his Mother her Reproofs began,
With sad fixed Features, but with Accent mild:
“How canst thou grieve me thus, my thoughtless Child?
“Thy Heart is hardened grown, & all thy Ways are wild.
“It is thy Boast the Laugh of Fools to raise,
“And thou art fond of Pleasure, fond of Praise.
“Talents thou hast, but they were lent for Use;
“Thine but that barren Praise of Fools produce.
98
“Not to improve is to debase the Mind.
“Thy Father's Pride, e'er to his Grave convey'd,
“Thee shall thy Mother, in her Fear, upbraid?
“Thou'st Courage, Rd, but the bravest Deed
“Should be thy Choice, the noblest Praise thy Meed.
“And is it not the noblest Act to stem
“The Passion's Currants, not be forced by them,
“Not their strong Impulse weakly to obey,
“And headlong hurry where they lead the Way?
“Pause then and pray, and God will give thee Grace
“To fly from Sin and Folly's frantic Chace
“Of fancied Good, which those alone enjoy,
“Who first all Sense of real Good distroy.
“Nay, be not weary”—for the Youth gave Proof,
Though still respectful, that he heard enough,
For if he silent and submissive bowed,
'Twas not that he the serious truths allowed;
Submissive he & silent, for he knew
His Time was short'ned, if his words were few.
From fond reproving Fear, to Scenes he loved,
With quickened Pace and eager Mind he moved;
There the chief Place where none but he may sit,
There the loud Laugh of bold Attempts at Wit,
There dubious Facts that daring Oaths attest,
The Tale licentious and the sportive Jest,
With Language such as when Reflection came,
He, who could most applaud, found much to blame.
Here Richard listened to th' Applause he felt,
Till in his heart the poisoned Flattery dwelt.
So gay, so joyous, his Companions swore
Poins was his Name, & Richard was no more.
Poins then he was, and his Associates led
In all Adventures, he their heart and Head,
Their Mischief's bold Contriver, Champion stout,
Their Guide in Danger, & their Pride when out.
When in their favourite Inn they sang Aloud,
Pleased with themselves, & of their Leader proud,
Poins was their Boast, a fit Companion He
99
Yea, Prince himself, as long as he could say:
“Bring in”, & then in prince-like Manner pay.
Th' obedient Host his every Call obeyed,
As if the Honour for the Service paid,
For well he judged that unpledged Acres yet
Remained, & gave their Sanction to the debt.
How long to serve he could not justly tell,
But while the Lady held them, All was well.
A Youth like this, with Spirits strong & high,
Was not the One for Love to pine & die,
But One who would by Beauty's Power be moved,
At least to fancy that he dearly loved.
In the next Village dwelt a gentle Maid,
With too much Cause, of Love & him afraid,
Handsome & Good & innocent & Mild,
Meek as a Saint & simple as a Child.
Her Richard loved, and she had loved Again,
But that her Prudence whispered her refrain.
She feared to give him Hope, tho' vex'd to give him Pain.
In his wild Days fair Susan was his Boast,
His Pride, the Subject of his Song, his Toast.
Her Name suppressed, he in his idle Lay
First wrote, then sang the praise of Jesse Gay:
“When Beaux to please the Ladies write,
“How tame & heartless is their flight!
“'Tis Fancy forms the Lay.
“They dwell on Cupid's Bow & Strings,
“But I on Marriage Rites & Rings,
“On Love & Jesse Gay.
“How tame & heartless is their flight!
“'Tis Fancy forms the Lay.
“They dwell on Cupid's Bow & Strings,
“But I on Marriage Rites & Rings,
“On Love & Jesse Gay.
“The silver Moon's enamour'd Beam
“Steals softly through the Night,
“So tells the Poet in his Dream,
“To kiss reflected Light.
“Ah, let such Bards such Shadows kiss,
“And let me speed my Way
“To taste of more substantial Bliss
“With Love and Jesse Gay.
“Steals softly through the Night,
“So tells the Poet in his Dream,
“To kiss reflected Light.
“Ah, let such Bards such Shadows kiss,
“And let me speed my Way
“To taste of more substantial Bliss
“With Love and Jesse Gay.
100
Youth o'er their Wine are never hard to please,
But gave their hearty Praise to Lines like these.
To write and sing is not for every Man;
Save our young Bard, there's but one more who can.
But he can more—“Another Song”, they cried,
And our applauded Youth with Ease complied.
But gave their hearty Praise to Lines like these.
To write and sing is not for every Man;
Save our young Bard, there's but one more who can.
But he can more—“Another Song”, they cried,
And our applauded Youth with Ease complied.
“Were I as rich as Dan the Jew,
“And very rich was he,
“Or as the Widow well-to-do,
“Who buried Husbands three,
“I'd build a House by Marston Dell,
“And all that part should say:
“‘'Tis there the Queen of Love should dwell,
“‘The matchless Jesse Gay.’
“And very rich was he,
“Or as the Widow well-to-do,
“Who buried Husbands three,
“I'd build a House by Marston Dell,
“And all that part should say:
“‘'Tis there the Queen of Love should dwell,
“‘The matchless Jesse Gay.’
“The Bailiff's Son my Fair admires,
“A Judge of Beauty true,
“But she rejects his fond Desires,
“For she has Judgment, too.
“In vain the Wealth at his Command,
“For what can Wealth impart?
“The Man who gains my Jesse's Hand,
“Must first obtain her Heart.
“A Judge of Beauty true,
“But she rejects his fond Desires,
“For she has Judgment, too.
“In vain the Wealth at his Command,
“For what can Wealth impart?
“The Man who gains my Jesse's Hand,
“Must first obtain her Heart.
“If I could win the Maiden bright,
“Who dwels at Meldrew Hall,
“I'd not my lovely Jesse slight,
“Myself the Lord to call.
“And did the Lord of Liddusdale
“For Jesse's Favour sue,
“He could not on the Maid prevail,
“While this fond Heart was true.”
“Who dwels at Meldrew Hall,
“I'd not my lovely Jesse slight,
“Myself the Lord to call.
“And did the Lord of Liddusdale
“For Jesse's Favour sue,
“He could not on the Maid prevail,
“While this fond Heart was true.”
Th' eager Mind and He their Call obey'd,
And oft he thought, whate'er his Song implied,
She might be his, & yet not be his Bride,
But some bold Efforts were so sharply checked
That he perceiv'd he lost by their Effect,
And soon he felt, so cold & cautious she,
101
It must be Marriage or it must not be.—
Softened by Love, his thoughts began to take
The better side; He would his Ways forsake,
His Tavern Mirth, his riotous Delight,
And all the Pleasures of the noisy Night,
The Friends, whose Fondness was th' Effect of Wine,
Except the few who would such Life resign—
“Jesse shall be mine.”
This had its Force, and then the things dispised
Resumed their Power & he his freedom prized—
“A Wife,” he said, “a Being made by Law,
“To keep a Man in Order or in Awe;
“If mild, then pining for an hasty Word;
“If sharp to Anger, ev'n by Silence stirr'd;
“A Spy; imprudent; if inclin'd to spend,
“Then quickly comes our Pittence to an End;
“And then the dear Ally, the confidential Friend,
“When all the Frailty that a Man would hide
“Are her's, for what is to a Friend denied?
“Add, too, the kindred tribe that come to dine,
“And their sweet Babes to romp & roar with mine.
“An Heav'n on Earth 'tis called! but what is here divine?
“And yet my Susan has a Temper meek
“As Infants pleased—some Council I must seek,
“And my good Mother”—Vain the wise Intent;
That Parent's time was now too nearly spent.
A few days past, & he with Grief unfeigned
Sighed for the Worth that could not be retained.
Richd, tho' wild, was not an heartless Son,
But deeply suffered for the Wrongs he'd done.
The Pain he caused, the Days & Months & Years,
He mourn'd with bitter, though with fruitless, tears.
He felt Contrition, & his Conscience slept
No more—he wondered at himself and wept
So good a Parent & so kind; he now
Could all the Virtue that he lost, allow.
From his Associates he with Scorn withdrew,
That even they believed his Sorrow true;
Nay, his Reform; yet they conceived it strange
That Grief alone could work so great a Change,
And Great it was; his Grief was as a Storm
That shook the Man, but yet was not Reform,
Had not the Source whence Reformation springs,
When it a lasting Change of Habit brings.
But such it seemed; yet was his Spirit moved
By other Cause, for, as he griev'd, he loved.
Love, Grief and Shame conspired at once to lure
His heart from Evil & to work his Cure.
And now reformed—for we suppress our Doubt
Of the good Work so quickly brought about—
He cherished Hope that Susan, mild & Good,
Would feel the Passion, she of late withstood,
And with her Hand and all her Heart reward
The Man for whom she had confest Regard.
This had its Force, and then the things dispised
Resumed their Power & he his freedom prized—
“A Wife,” he said, “a Being made by Law,
“To keep a Man in Order or in Awe;
“If mild, then pining for an hasty Word;
“If sharp to Anger, ev'n by Silence stirr'd;
“A Spy; imprudent; if inclin'd to spend,
“Then quickly comes our Pittence to an End;
“And then the dear Ally, the confidential Friend,
“When all the Frailty that a Man would hide
“Are her's, for what is to a Friend denied?
“Add, too, the kindred tribe that come to dine,
“And their sweet Babes to romp & roar with mine.
“An Heav'n on Earth 'tis called! but what is here divine?
“And yet my Susan has a Temper meek
“As Infants pleased—some Council I must seek,
“And my good Mother”—Vain the wise Intent;
That Parent's time was now too nearly spent.
A few days past, & he with Grief unfeigned
Sighed for the Worth that could not be retained.
Richd, tho' wild, was not an heartless Son,
But deeply suffered for the Wrongs he'd done.
The Pain he caused, the Days & Months & Years,
He mourn'd with bitter, though with fruitless, tears.
He felt Contrition, & his Conscience slept
No more—he wondered at himself and wept
So good a Parent & so kind; he now
Could all the Virtue that he lost, allow.
From his Associates he with Scorn withdrew,
That even they believed his Sorrow true;
102
That Grief alone could work so great a Change,
And Great it was; his Grief was as a Storm
That shook the Man, but yet was not Reform,
Had not the Source whence Reformation springs,
When it a lasting Change of Habit brings.
But such it seemed; yet was his Spirit moved
By other Cause, for, as he griev'd, he loved.
Love, Grief and Shame conspired at once to lure
His heart from Evil & to work his Cure.
And now reformed—for we suppress our Doubt
Of the good Work so quickly brought about—
He cherished Hope that Susan, mild & Good,
Would feel the Passion, she of late withstood,
And with her Hand and all her Heart reward
The Man for whom she had confest Regard.
Yet he a Rival feared, and he was one
With Reason feared, a neighbouring Farmer's Son,
A rural Beau, with Manner free & Air
That marks the Hero of a Village Fair,
Yet gave his prudent Father no Alarm,
No Fair or fair One kept him from the Farm;
Proud of the Horse that bore him to the Race,
And when he joined his Landlord in the Chace,
Gay Days were those, not frequent, and they gave
Praise to a Youth, who could his Money save,
Yet gain Applause—he thus to Market went,
Well pleased with what he spared & what he spent.
The Friends of Susan were Advisers all:
“Let him not go whom you cannot recall.
“And then for whom?” “Ah!”, Susan thought, “for One
“With whom no Farmer holds Comparison.”
Her Heart was Judge, & could the difference trace
Between the Jocky-Air and real Grace,
Between the Lad, who was allowed to ride,
And show his Hunters at his Landlord's Side,
And One, who thought not that he should aspire
Beyond his Rank by riding with the Squire;
He was not One who followed in a Course
Always to show, perchance to sell his Horse.
Poins was not jealous, yet there was some Fear
Of One for ever praised, for ever near.
A Man at Hand, whom all her Friends approve,
Will sometimes shake a meek soul'd Maiden's Love.
Nor Poins alone the jealous Terror knew,
For Susan learn'd that she had Rivals, too.
Not One alone! One Rival gives us Pain,
But, having many, we are safe again;
Like Friends are Rivals, forasmuch as One
In either Case we more depend upon.
But Susan loved & fear'd, but now Adieu
To Fears & Doubts & Rival. Poins is true!
He comes with Love & Hope, & as he pleads,
Her Sigh & Silence tell him he succeeds.
So were they wedded, & our Story now
Might end, did Truth & History allow,
Did married Couples always faithful prove,
Or lasting Reformation wait on Love.
There are, we doubt not, married pairs, who live
With all the Comforts Life & Love can give,
Who not an Instant in their wedded Life
Felt one sad thought for being Man & Wife.
Alas! with such we must not ours compare,
Who were as other happy Couples are.
She was not always meek, not always kind
Was he; and neither were discreetly blind.
Some little Failings would at times appear,
But, on the Whole, it was an happy Year.
“But One?” I say not that, Another past,
Not much to be distinguished from the last;
Richard looked o'er his Land, his Sheep, his Cows,
And talked of Market Profits to his Spouse.
Then there ensued, I cannot well express
What I would say, a kind of Wearyness;
Richard, who read while Susan worked, now swore
The Book was dull, & he would read no more;
Then with his Legs stretched forth & Head reclined,
To think of Nothing he himself resigned—
“But he reformed?” O! Yes, for many a day,
For many a Night, and shunn'd the former Way,
When strong Temptation woo'd him in the Gloom
Of a long Evening, & he sighed at Home.
“Sigh & with Susan?” Yea, and Men will sigh
For Want of Something, or they know not why.
He sang, & asked his Susan for a Song;
Yet, for all this, the Days were getting long,
His Mind was active, & he lacked Employ;
At Length he had it, & could nurse his Boy,
And feel a father's Pride, & join a Mother's Joy.
But restless still, & Susan yet confined,
He sauntered forth with nothing in his Mind,
Or good or Evil; What was his Intent,
He knew not, knew not why, or where, he went;
He meant to change his Place, & that was all he meant.
With Reason feared, a neighbouring Farmer's Son,
A rural Beau, with Manner free & Air
That marks the Hero of a Village Fair,
Yet gave his prudent Father no Alarm,
No Fair or fair One kept him from the Farm;
Proud of the Horse that bore him to the Race,
And when he joined his Landlord in the Chace,
Gay Days were those, not frequent, and they gave
Praise to a Youth, who could his Money save,
Yet gain Applause—he thus to Market went,
Well pleased with what he spared & what he spent.
The Friends of Susan were Advisers all:
“Let him not go whom you cannot recall.
“And then for whom?” “Ah!”, Susan thought, “for One
“With whom no Farmer holds Comparison.”
Her Heart was Judge, & could the difference trace
Between the Jocky-Air and real Grace,
Between the Lad, who was allowed to ride,
And show his Hunters at his Landlord's Side,
And One, who thought not that he should aspire
Beyond his Rank by riding with the Squire;
He was not One who followed in a Course
103
Poins was not jealous, yet there was some Fear
Of One for ever praised, for ever near.
A Man at Hand, whom all her Friends approve,
Will sometimes shake a meek soul'd Maiden's Love.
Nor Poins alone the jealous Terror knew,
For Susan learn'd that she had Rivals, too.
Not One alone! One Rival gives us Pain,
But, having many, we are safe again;
Like Friends are Rivals, forasmuch as One
In either Case we more depend upon.
But Susan loved & fear'd, but now Adieu
To Fears & Doubts & Rival. Poins is true!
He comes with Love & Hope, & as he pleads,
Her Sigh & Silence tell him he succeeds.
So were they wedded, & our Story now
Might end, did Truth & History allow,
Did married Couples always faithful prove,
Or lasting Reformation wait on Love.
There are, we doubt not, married pairs, who live
With all the Comforts Life & Love can give,
Who not an Instant in their wedded Life
Felt one sad thought for being Man & Wife.
Alas! with such we must not ours compare,
Who were as other happy Couples are.
She was not always meek, not always kind
Was he; and neither were discreetly blind.
Some little Failings would at times appear,
But, on the Whole, it was an happy Year.
“But One?” I say not that, Another past,
Not much to be distinguished from the last;
Richard looked o'er his Land, his Sheep, his Cows,
And talked of Market Profits to his Spouse.
Then there ensued, I cannot well express
What I would say, a kind of Wearyness;
Richard, who read while Susan worked, now swore
The Book was dull, & he would read no more;
Then with his Legs stretched forth & Head reclined,
To think of Nothing he himself resigned—
104
For many a Night, and shunn'd the former Way,
When strong Temptation woo'd him in the Gloom
Of a long Evening, & he sighed at Home.
“Sigh & with Susan?” Yea, and Men will sigh
For Want of Something, or they know not why.
He sang, & asked his Susan for a Song;
Yet, for all this, the Days were getting long,
His Mind was active, & he lacked Employ;
At Length he had it, & could nurse his Boy,
And feel a father's Pride, & join a Mother's Joy.
But restless still, & Susan yet confined,
He sauntered forth with nothing in his Mind,
Or good or Evil; What was his Intent,
He knew not, knew not why, or where, he went;
He meant to change his Place, & that was all he meant.
But whether Fortune or some evil Power
Became his Guide in that unlucky Hour
We cannot tell, but at the Tavern Door
Stood his first Fav'rite in the Days of Yore.
Resist who could? The Time, the Place, the Man
Richard could not, as you, dear Reader, can.
“For One gay Evening! Where could be the Harm?
“It could not give his Wife at home alarm,
“Nor need she know it, nothing wrong is done,
“Though Women still suspect, & she is One”—
Became his Guide in that unlucky Hour
We cannot tell, but at the Tavern Door
Stood his first Fav'rite in the Days of Yore.
Resist who could? The Time, the Place, the Man
Richard could not, as you, dear Reader, can.
“For One gay Evening! Where could be the Harm?
“It could not give his Wife at home alarm,
“Nor need she know it, nothing wrong is done,
“Though Women still suspect, & she is One”—
Thus was the Door now Opened, & the Flood
Rushed in Amain, no more to be withstood.
Rushed in Amain, no more to be withstood.
“Ah! foolish Man, to go where thou hast known
“The wise Man weak'ned & the strong o'erthrown,
“To go where Habit will resume her Power,
“And be the thoughtless Victim of that Hour.”
“The wise Man weak'ned & the strong o'erthrown,
“To go where Habit will resume her Power,
“And be the thoughtless Victim of that Hour.”
As on some Aweful Cliff th' adventurous Boy
Looks down, & seems his Terror to enjoy,
“Here I am safe”, he cries, then looks Again
With Self Applause, “And safe will I remain”,
Then turns his foolish Head from Side to Side,
And makes his sad Security his Pride,
Nor, till he pitches on the Rock below,
Does he his Weakness or his Misery know.
Looks down, & seems his Terror to enjoy,
“Here I am safe”, he cries, then looks Again
With Self Applause, “And safe will I remain”,
Then turns his foolish Head from Side to Side,
And makes his sad Security his Pride,
Nor, till he pitches on the Rock below,
105
So erred our Child of Frailty, loth to dwell
In a secure Retreat, and so he fell,
For Reformation such as his could last
But till the time of Love & Grief was past;
And they were gone. He did resolve, indeed,
But Resolution is a breaking Reed,
Made by Man's Will alone—He should have known
Who gives Man Strength superior to his Own;
Vain his Resolve, who on himself relies,
'Tis Grief's Repentence, not Humility's.
And therefore Habit in his easy Chain
Drew the weak Richard to his Hold Again;
Again the Tavern shouts, & Friends of old
Their Prize, their Victim & their Pride behold;
Again the Midnight Roar, the Song, the Jest,
The drunken Glory of the Friends attest.
High were his Spirits, though but brief his Reign,
And all protested—“Poins was come Again.”
In vain, the Wife proclaimed her load of Care,
He could not listen, for he would not share.
He felt th' approaching Ruin, and he fled
To his loved Haunt to hide his guilty head,
Revelling, though wretched, striving to o'ercome
The poignant Anguish that he felt at home,
His Self-reproach, that he could not suppress;
And Love and Pity sharpened his distress.
These in some thoughtful Moments made him fly
To his own home in silent Agony.
There, as he gazed upon his Child and Wife,
He tasted all the Bitterness of Life,
But when that Boy, who just began to trace
The Marks of Sorrow in the Parent's Face,
Or some sad smile, and had his Knowledge shown
By corresponding Sorrow in his Own,
That Infant Sufferer from those Scenes of Grief
Was called, and gave his Wretchedness Relief!
His Tears were softened by the thought that he
Brought not his Child to Want & Misery.
But now farewell to every prudent Care,
To every Hope—'tis useless now to spare.
His thought, not hers, was this, who, strugling hard,
Found vile Reproach & Insult her Reward.
These did her Conduct merit? She was sure
Her Mind was spotless and her Bosom pure.
But if Her Virtues stood Awhile the Test,
They wanted that on which the Virtues rest,
That which the Martyrs in Expiring feel,
That made them scorn the Faggot & the Wheel.
This she had not, but that she had, which we
And the world Virtue calls, & Chastity.
From this she felt a strong Resentment rise
And whom she pitied, she could now dispise.
Contemptuous now, the humbled Man she met,
And loudly charged with Drunkenness & Debt,
She scorned his maudlin Wrath, and less could brook
His sober-senseless Impotence of Look.
When unsupported by the Spirits' Aid,
He looked debased, forlorn, ashamed, afraid,
Shrank from her Scorn, his Misery professed,
In his own Room became a Beggar Guest,
Then hung his aching Head, and groan'd for Want of Rest.
In a secure Retreat, and so he fell,
For Reformation such as his could last
But till the time of Love & Grief was past;
And they were gone. He did resolve, indeed,
But Resolution is a breaking Reed,
Made by Man's Will alone—He should have known
Who gives Man Strength superior to his Own;
Vain his Resolve, who on himself relies,
'Tis Grief's Repentence, not Humility's.
And therefore Habit in his easy Chain
Drew the weak Richard to his Hold Again;
Again the Tavern shouts, & Friends of old
Their Prize, their Victim & their Pride behold;
Again the Midnight Roar, the Song, the Jest,
The drunken Glory of the Friends attest.
High were his Spirits, though but brief his Reign,
And all protested—“Poins was come Again.”
In vain, the Wife proclaimed her load of Care,
He could not listen, for he would not share.
He felt th' approaching Ruin, and he fled
To his loved Haunt to hide his guilty head,
Revelling, though wretched, striving to o'ercome
The poignant Anguish that he felt at home,
His Self-reproach, that he could not suppress;
And Love and Pity sharpened his distress.
These in some thoughtful Moments made him fly
To his own home in silent Agony.
There, as he gazed upon his Child and Wife,
He tasted all the Bitterness of Life,
But when that Boy, who just began to trace
The Marks of Sorrow in the Parent's Face,
Or some sad smile, and had his Knowledge shown
By corresponding Sorrow in his Own,
That Infant Sufferer from those Scenes of Grief
Was called, and gave his Wretchedness Relief!
His Tears were softened by the thought that he
Brought not his Child to Want & Misery.
106
To every Hope—'tis useless now to spare.
His thought, not hers, was this, who, strugling hard,
Found vile Reproach & Insult her Reward.
These did her Conduct merit? She was sure
Her Mind was spotless and her Bosom pure.
But if Her Virtues stood Awhile the Test,
They wanted that on which the Virtues rest,
That which the Martyrs in Expiring feel,
That made them scorn the Faggot & the Wheel.
This she had not, but that she had, which we
And the world Virtue calls, & Chastity.
From this she felt a strong Resentment rise
And whom she pitied, she could now dispise.
Contemptuous now, the humbled Man she met,
And loudly charged with Drunkenness & Debt,
She scorned his maudlin Wrath, and less could brook
His sober-senseless Impotence of Look.
When unsupported by the Spirits' Aid,
He looked debased, forlorn, ashamed, afraid,
Shrank from her Scorn, his Misery professed,
In his own Room became a Beggar Guest,
Then hung his aching Head, and groan'd for Want of Rest.
All now was lost, save that which all her Views
Of Want to come, now tempted her to loose,
For she had Youth, nay, Beauty, and her Dress
Was simply neat and veiled the Heart's Distress.
Of Want to come, now tempted her to loose,
For she had Youth, nay, Beauty, and her Dress
Was simply neat and veiled the Heart's Distress.
There was, and well she knew, there was, a Friend,
So are they called, who ruin and defend,
Protect, enslave and love—a Man of Arms,
Who long had talked of Susan & her Charms,
Yet not to her, save as he past, his Eyes
Told her how much he would her Favour prize.
Him Fortune favoured, he had Wealth to waste
In the Indulgence of perverted Taste.
Still Youth & Fortune gave him no Pretence
T'attack unquestioned Virtue—he had Sense.
But when the Wife had her Resentment shown,
And had assumed a Manner, not her Own,
Light and affected, when he looked and sighed,
And Looks, that Lovers construe, had replied,
His hope grew bold, that said, “You will not be denied.”
So are they called, who ruin and defend,
Protect, enslave and love—a Man of Arms,
Who long had talked of Susan & her Charms,
Yet not to her, save as he past, his Eyes
Told her how much he would her Favour prize.
Him Fortune favoured, he had Wealth to waste
In the Indulgence of perverted Taste.
Still Youth & Fortune gave him no Pretence
T'attack unquestioned Virtue—he had Sense.
But when the Wife had her Resentment shown,
And had assumed a Manner, not her Own,
107
And Looks, that Lovers construe, had replied,
His hope grew bold, that said, “You will not be denied.”
We pass the Progress of a Love so vile,
Th' affected Frown, the half absenting Smile,
Meeting, with Skill contrived, that might appear
The Effect of Chance, while there remained a Fear,
But Fears receding died, as Hope increased,
Till both in guilty Certainty had ceased.
Th' affected Frown, the half absenting Smile,
Meeting, with Skill contrived, that might appear
The Effect of Chance, while there remained a Fear,
But Fears receding died, as Hope increased,
Till both in guilty Certainty had ceased.
Th' wretched Man his guilty Partner mourned,
And to his Vice with thirsty Rage returned.
So perished Virtue, honest fame, Content,
And all to Wretchedness & Ruin went.
And to his Vice with thirsty Rage returned.
So perished Virtue, honest fame, Content,
And all to Wretchedness & Ruin went.
Poins was no more, his old Companions all
Avoided him—in Pity to his fall.
Cash, Credit, Character all gone, his Pride
Urged him, now sober, from his Friends to hide,
And Temperence now, of Want & Suffering bred,
Confined him, sick and sorrowing, to his Bed,
A hard, mean Bed, but kindly lent by One,
Who could remember what a Friend had done.
Poins was that Friend, the Love that he had shown
Was now repaid—He reap'd, as he had sown.
His Heart was softened, Selfreproach & Shame
And meek Contrition to his Spirit came.
Had then some Guide—but he was left alone,
Save the hired Witness of the Sigh & Groan,
That Self abasement from his Bosom drew,
When of the past he took a sad Review.
Avoided him—in Pity to his fall.
Cash, Credit, Character all gone, his Pride
Urged him, now sober, from his Friends to hide,
And Temperence now, of Want & Suffering bred,
Confined him, sick and sorrowing, to his Bed,
A hard, mean Bed, but kindly lent by One,
Who could remember what a Friend had done.
Poins was that Friend, the Love that he had shown
Was now repaid—He reap'd, as he had sown.
His Heart was softened, Selfreproach & Shame
And meek Contrition to his Spirit came.
Had then some Guide—but he was left alone,
Save the hired Witness of the Sigh & Groan,
That Self abasement from his Bosom drew,
When of the past he took a sad Review.
Nor did he not that holy Book forget,
That shewed at once the Greatness of his Debt,
And gave an Hope, that in the Soul's Dismay
In dread and Darkness, there was still a Way.
Yet much he wanted, he was grieved to find
Himself so lost and walking with Mankind,
Friendless and full of fear, without a Guide & blind.
That shewed at once the Greatness of his Debt,
And gave an Hope, that in the Soul's Dismay
In dread and Darkness, there was still a Way.
Yet much he wanted, he was grieved to find
Himself so lost and walking with Mankind,
Friendless and full of fear, without a Guide & blind.
Restored to Health, his Mind in calmer Mood,
He sighed for Comfort, and must try for food.
Should he then dig or beg?—he would not try;
He would not steal—'twas worse than Beggary;
The parish Aid—that Pride & Shame forbade.
Yet One Resource the Pauper-Richard had,
Nor lacked he Courage for the Life he chose,
And as a Soldier he might hide his Woes,
Or he might end them; thus he left the Land,
To march Away as Fortune might command.
So him we leave for Fortune to prefer,
To see the Wife and What relates to her.
He sighed for Comfort, and must try for food.
Should he then dig or beg?—he would not try;
108
The parish Aid—that Pride & Shame forbade.
Yet One Resource the Pauper-Richard had,
Nor lacked he Courage for the Life he chose,
And as a Soldier he might hide his Woes,
Or he might end them; thus he left the Land,
To march Away as Fortune might command.
So him we leave for Fortune to prefer,
To see the Wife and What relates to her.
She lived in Town, and not an anxious Life,
Save when remembering she was not the Wife
Of her fond Captain, and she could not yet,
With all that Fondness, her poor Poins forget.
Yet of his Sorrows she but little knew,
Where he was gone, or what he might persue.
Her Anger died, nor could she now appeal
To her own Wrongs, her Fault had made her feel,
Had made her humble, though they still remain'd,
For, like her Husband, she was habit chained.
She sought Amusement: she was sometimes gay,
Though oft'ner grave: she prayed, or seemed to pray,
And was devout at Church, & kept the Sabbath Day.
The early Bias of the Mind still drew
The Child of Habit to the Sunday-pew,
And then the World, and what the World could give,
Led her like Children of that World to live.
There were some Pleasures that it could impart,
And gain an Influence in a weakened heart.
In Air & Manner she was much improved,
And caught their Habits, Whom she scarsely loved.
All that could please her Mind, or could employ,
Her generous Lover wished her to enjoy,
But, though she lived as those who largely spend,
She ruled her Lover's Houshold, as his Friend,
While he perversely wished her to display
Herself, his Pride, & be profusely Gay:
Ill could he bear to see her serious Look,
And, save a Play or Novel, cursed her Book.
“Smile”, he would say, and as the Smile appeared,
There was a soft, low Sigh that might be heard.
Her Days were pleasant, but when Day declin'd,
There came a Cloud, & settled on the Mind.
The Captain present, nought of this was seen,
Her Looks were sprightly, & her Air serene,
But in his Absence she would think and feel,
As would a Thief, who reads: “Thou shalt not steal.”
Hard words unbidden came, when she would sigh,
And slowly would pronounce: “A-dul-te-ry.”
This brought her State so often in her View,
She thought her Husband happier of the two,
Yet little could she know, and ill alone she knew.
Still in her Prudence she her Grief must hide,
It stung her Lover's Soul, it hurt his Pride,
It would Resentment in his Mind create,
And marr'd the Pleasure of their tranquil State.
When for such Praises she was not prepared,
He talked of all the golden Joys they shared,
Asked her what Wife, what Lady in the Land,
Had so much Wealth & Pleasure at Command?
Had she a Want or Wish? & what the while
Did he require? Acceptance & a Smile.
Husbands, 'tis true, must bear the Looks, which they
Are pleased t'assume, who promise to obey,
But generous Lovers, though their Ladies vow
No such Obedience, no sad Looks allow;
To them their Charmers must appear at Ease,
Such is their Pleasure; whom she lives to please.
Who in a Mistress bears the Marks of Grief?
When in his Sadness he expects Relief,
If his fair Mistress should appear with Gloom!
He might as well have found a Wife at Home.
'Tis well they know, whose Looks at least are gay,
Who, no Obedience vowing, must obey,
Must to their Lover's Spirit suit their part,
And soothe his temper to retain his Heart.
Save when remembering she was not the Wife
Of her fond Captain, and she could not yet,
With all that Fondness, her poor Poins forget.
Yet of his Sorrows she but little knew,
Where he was gone, or what he might persue.
Her Anger died, nor could she now appeal
To her own Wrongs, her Fault had made her feel,
Had made her humble, though they still remain'd,
For, like her Husband, she was habit chained.
She sought Amusement: she was sometimes gay,
Though oft'ner grave: she prayed, or seemed to pray,
And was devout at Church, & kept the Sabbath Day.
The early Bias of the Mind still drew
The Child of Habit to the Sunday-pew,
And then the World, and what the World could give,
Led her like Children of that World to live.
There were some Pleasures that it could impart,
And gain an Influence in a weakened heart.
In Air & Manner she was much improved,
And caught their Habits, Whom she scarsely loved.
All that could please her Mind, or could employ,
Her generous Lover wished her to enjoy,
But, though she lived as those who largely spend,
She ruled her Lover's Houshold, as his Friend,
While he perversely wished her to display
Herself, his Pride, & be profusely Gay:
Ill could he bear to see her serious Look,
And, save a Play or Novel, cursed her Book.
“Smile”, he would say, and as the Smile appeared,
109
Her Days were pleasant, but when Day declin'd,
There came a Cloud, & settled on the Mind.
The Captain present, nought of this was seen,
Her Looks were sprightly, & her Air serene,
But in his Absence she would think and feel,
As would a Thief, who reads: “Thou shalt not steal.”
Hard words unbidden came, when she would sigh,
And slowly would pronounce: “A-dul-te-ry.”
This brought her State so often in her View,
She thought her Husband happier of the two,
Yet little could she know, and ill alone she knew.
Still in her Prudence she her Grief must hide,
It stung her Lover's Soul, it hurt his Pride,
It would Resentment in his Mind create,
And marr'd the Pleasure of their tranquil State.
When for such Praises she was not prepared,
He talked of all the golden Joys they shared,
Asked her what Wife, what Lady in the Land,
Had so much Wealth & Pleasure at Command?
Had she a Want or Wish? & what the while
Did he require? Acceptance & a Smile.
Husbands, 'tis true, must bear the Looks, which they
Are pleased t'assume, who promise to obey,
But generous Lovers, though their Ladies vow
No such Obedience, no sad Looks allow;
To them their Charmers must appear at Ease,
Such is their Pleasure; whom she lives to please.
Who in a Mistress bears the Marks of Grief?
When in his Sadness he expects Relief,
If his fair Mistress should appear with Gloom!
He might as well have found a Wife at Home.
'Tis well they know, whose Looks at least are gay,
Who, no Obedience vowing, must obey,
Must to their Lover's Spirit suit their part,
And soothe his temper to retain his Heart.
Hence evil Passions in the Bosom grow,
Which neither Looks nor hasty Speech must shew,
For Evil must she reap, who will to Evil sow.
Which neither Looks nor hasty Speech must shew,
For Evil must she reap, who will to Evil sow.
110
Still though by Susan's Gloom her Friend was tried,
They no Indulgence to their Wish denied.
And then two Boys, improving in their Sight,
Gave them an anxious and disturbed Delight,
For these fair Children of their Loves to them
Must bring Reproof, & must those Loves condemn,
And thus the Smiles upon each Infant's face
Were sweet Memorials of their own Disgrace.
This Susan felt, she tried this oft, in vain,
To banish Sadness, for she cherished Pain,
And oft she asked, her hours in Sorrow spent:
“Is this Repentence, do I not repent?”
Nay, Susan, Nay, repenting Sinners fly
From the sad Pleasures that their Frailties buy,
They feel their ruined State, lament the Price,
And spurn the Profit that is made by Vice.
But thy Repentence is the fruitless Grief,
That is too light to give the Soul Relief;
Like an unskilful Surgeon's, all the pain
That thou inflictest is endured in vain,
Thy Wound is shallow, and at best it brings
Unfruitful Sorrow to the Heart it wrings.
They no Indulgence to their Wish denied.
And then two Boys, improving in their Sight,
Gave them an anxious and disturbed Delight,
For these fair Children of their Loves to them
Must bring Reproof, & must those Loves condemn,
And thus the Smiles upon each Infant's face
Were sweet Memorials of their own Disgrace.
This Susan felt, she tried this oft, in vain,
To banish Sadness, for she cherished Pain,
And oft she asked, her hours in Sorrow spent:
“Is this Repentence, do I not repent?”
Nay, Susan, Nay, repenting Sinners fly
From the sad Pleasures that their Frailties buy,
They feel their ruined State, lament the Price,
And spurn the Profit that is made by Vice.
But thy Repentence is the fruitless Grief,
That is too light to give the Soul Relief;
Like an unskilful Surgeon's, all the pain
That thou inflictest is endured in vain,
Thy Wound is shallow, and at best it brings
Unfruitful Sorrow to the Heart it wrings.
How long will this, a troubled State, endure,
Or what will end the Pain, or what will cure?
Or what will end the Pain, or what will cure?
One morn the Captain came with troubled Air,
Kiss'd the fair Boys, and breathed a Parent's Prayer,
Embraced his Susan, wrote awhile, and sealed
Some secret Words, not yet to be revealed.
“Ask not till I return”, he said, then fled,
And in One Hour was brought before her—Dead.
Kiss'd the fair Boys, and breathed a Parent's Prayer,
Embraced his Susan, wrote awhile, and sealed
Some secret Words, not yet to be revealed.
“Ask not till I return”, he said, then fled,
And in One Hour was brought before her—Dead.
Two favourite Dogs, a Stranger's and his Own,
Had angry proofs of dogged Nature shown,
Which soon had ended in the usual Way,
And pleased a few rude Urchins with the Fray,
Had not their high-soul'd Masters interposed,
And fatally the sad Adventure closed.
Urged by a Moment's Anger, both appeared,
And faced the Death they less than Insult feared.
Say, is there not an easier Way to save
An Hero's Honour than to dig his Grave?
At least, to hazard Life that he may prove
His Love of Honour was his dearest Love?
Life he could venture, though when every Stain,
That Youth contracted, would in Death remain,
But let one Blot that Honour spurns appear,
And he will stake that Life to make it clear;
His Soul polluted he to Heaven commends,
But his own Honour his own Arm defends!
Had angry proofs of dogged Nature shown,
Which soon had ended in the usual Way,
And pleased a few rude Urchins with the Fray,
Had not their high-soul'd Masters interposed,
And fatally the sad Adventure closed.
Urged by a Moment's Anger, both appeared,
And faced the Death they less than Insult feared.
Say, is there not an easier Way to save
111
At least, to hazard Life that he may prove
His Love of Honour was his dearest Love?
Life he could venture, though when every Stain,
That Youth contracted, would in Death remain,
But let one Blot that Honour spurns appear,
And he will stake that Life to make it clear;
His Soul polluted he to Heaven commends,
But his own Honour his own Arm defends!
Thus fell poor Susan's Friend, & what for her
Remained that she could to her Death prefer?
Fear, Sorrow, Shame, with all that they can bring,
Were her's, and Want with its envenomed Sting.
Remained that she could to her Death prefer?
Fear, Sorrow, Shame, with all that they can bring,
Were her's, and Want with its envenomed Sting.
Nay! Love had Foresight—let her break that Seal,
That Act will part of her Distresses heal,
That poisoning Part; yet there is Sorrow still,
The Boys were not made Subject to her Will,
They with their Father's Kindred must abide,
With slight Acquaintance on the Mother's Side,
For though she won his Love, she could not charm his Pride.
The Lads were taught, as soon as they could know,
What High birth meant, their Mother's Birth was low.
Then, when they saw her, they their Law obey'd;
And shrank ashamed from Fondness and afraid,
And cold Respect for fond Endearments paid.
But though alone, she was with Means supplied,
Where'er she would, in Comfort to abide—
Where shall she go, & for a Season sigh,
Till she was easy & prepar'd to die,
Till she reflected on the past, & shed
Tears for the Living Husband & the Dead?
Susan was grieved, & was consoled—She now
Might a pure Life of Decency avow;
The wicked Town she would forsake, and hide
In some lone Hamlet by the Green-sea-Side,
There from the Rocks upon the Ocean look,
And pass the quiet Evenings with a Book,
Do some kind Service to the poor, and rule
The grateful pupils of her Sunday School,
Would to the Sick their little Comforts send,
And be accounted as the poor Man's Friend.
That Act will part of her Distresses heal,
That poisoning Part; yet there is Sorrow still,
The Boys were not made Subject to her Will,
They with their Father's Kindred must abide,
With slight Acquaintance on the Mother's Side,
For though she won his Love, she could not charm his Pride.
The Lads were taught, as soon as they could know,
What High birth meant, their Mother's Birth was low.
Then, when they saw her, they their Law obey'd;
And shrank ashamed from Fondness and afraid,
And cold Respect for fond Endearments paid.
But though alone, she was with Means supplied,
Where'er she would, in Comfort to abide—
Where shall she go, & for a Season sigh,
Till she was easy & prepar'd to die,
Till she reflected on the past, & shed
Tears for the Living Husband & the Dead?
Susan was grieved, & was consoled—She now
Might a pure Life of Decency avow;
The wicked Town she would forsake, and hide
In some lone Hamlet by the Green-sea-Side,
There from the Rocks upon the Ocean look,
And pass the quiet Evenings with a Book,
Do some kind Service to the poor, and rule
The grateful pupils of her Sunday School,
112
And be accounted as the poor Man's Friend.
The Place she found, although it did not seem
The quiet Hamlet of her soothing Dream,
Was yet a Place wherein she might reside,
Commanding All Things—save the Wind & Tide.
Alas! not so, the Sea-nymphs & their Swains
Allowed no Queen to rule in their Domains;
They took her Kindness kindly, but no more,
No grave Advice, nor mild Rebuke they bore,
But in her Presence smoaked, & at her Chiding swore.
For present Service and for promised Aid,
“I thank you, Madam” was the whole they paid.
Surly & Savage! who could Favour show
To them who never felt a Wish to know,
Who could their thanks require, or who such Gifts bestow,
But took them roughly, as they kindly came,
And never asked the generous Lady's Name?
But as all Creatures some Distinction find,
“She of the Folly” was the name assigned!
To A snug Building, severed from the rest,
A Stranger's Wonder & the Sailor's Jest.
She built it not, nor did she much admire;
It was an House, & one that she could hire.
Her first Objection this, It was not nigh
To the poor Objects of her Charity;
But now, when of these Objects she had proof,
She thought it not from rudeness far enough,
From the strange People, who were fierce & rude,
Heartless & hard, & void of Gratitude.
Still there were Places, where a quiet Mind
Might Occupation & Amusement find,
A few small Houses, scatter'd on a Green—
Where not a Seaman or his Wife was seen.
But this, too, failed, 'twas Silence all, & Gloom,
And Winter made a Prizon of her Room;
For tho' she lov'd not Scenes where Noise abound,
Yet here the Calm was awful & profound.
And in the Stillness of the place arose
Strange Views of Life, that murder'd her repose.
Twice she essay'd, but never long could stay,
E'er the Wish rose, that hurried her Away.
Something Agreed not with her Taste, or worse,
Injured her Health, her Spirits, or her Purse.
A Village then, tho' Poets may prefer
Such Kind of Place, was not a Place for her.
Now will she go, & sitting calmly down,
Enjoy th' Arrangements of a social Town,
Join a few Friends, & with their Aid, at Whist
Stake just as much as never would be mist,
And then a Novel, in a Summer's Day
Or Winter-Night, would pass the Hours Away,
Good Books on Sundays, or a Sermon, read
To soothe the Spirit, not to turn the Head
With horrid Notions of Our Sins & all
That came of Man's frail Nature & his fall;
There, without Trouble and at small Expence,
She might indulge her Heart's Benevolence,
And yearly read in print a fair Account
Of what each Lady gave, & what th' Amount.
Thus known for pious Deeds & social Mind,
There she might Rest & Relaxation find,
Perhaps would gain some female Friend, & then
Have Life & Love, unvex'd with Cares or Men,
All this might do, & this our Widow tried,
For by that Name 'twas prudent to abide,
But sad Impediments, & all unseen,
Came her & her predicted Peace between.
A decent Widow in a Street, where all
The decent People in the Town might call!
Genteel Apartments with her Maid & Boy,
'Twas hard she could not such a State enjoy.
Her Tables too, her Carpet, Cards & Lights,
Were such as few could boast of in their Nights,
With all things handsome, but not Seamen's Wives
Are greater plagues to gentle Widows' Lives
Than all enquiring Ladies!—When she came
They sought—so far might be allowed—her Name,
But then it followed: “In What Class of Life?
“A Widow is she? has she been a Wife?
“Why came she hither, & from whence, & who
“Affirm that all they tell of her is true?
“What know we of her? all beside her Name
“Is Guess, & where there's Secrecy, there's Shame.
“Her very Prudence and Discretion shows
“To all the Knowing What of Life she knows.
“Was she but merry and spake all she thought,
“Why nothing further would be seen or sought,
“But when the Dame is prudent & discreet,
“It shows she would not with Enquirers meet,
“And wraps herself in Silence.”—Thus, in Time,
Was the poor Stranger tax'd with many a Crime.
Ladies grew shy, and ev'n the cheerful few,
That were her Friends, became suspected, too.
She went to Prayers; they wondered what she meant,
But doubtless there was that she must repent.
“And then so civil, we shall ever find
“A Cause for that, for Cowards must be kind.
“But can we visit? can we render cheap
“A Name that costs a World of Care to keep?”
To this not all assented, some believed
That One, whom none accused, might be received:
“Suppose the worst, Admit there was a Stain,
“Shall that for ever as a Mark remain?
“If every Blot must on our Name abide,
“Good Heaven protect us, where can Creatures hide?”
All this, in time, conveyed to her Retreat,
Made our poor Widow's an uneasy Seat.
Wearied & vext, she thought again to flee
In search of Peace, if Peace on Earth could be.
It was not hard to effect a Change of Place,
But who could fly from Censure & Disgrace?—
The quiet Hamlet of her soothing Dream,
Was yet a Place wherein she might reside,
Commanding All Things—save the Wind & Tide.
Alas! not so, the Sea-nymphs & their Swains
Allowed no Queen to rule in their Domains;
They took her Kindness kindly, but no more,
No grave Advice, nor mild Rebuke they bore,
But in her Presence smoaked, & at her Chiding swore.
For present Service and for promised Aid,
“I thank you, Madam” was the whole they paid.
Surly & Savage! who could Favour show
To them who never felt a Wish to know,
Who could their thanks require, or who such Gifts bestow,
But took them roughly, as they kindly came,
And never asked the generous Lady's Name?
But as all Creatures some Distinction find,
“She of the Folly” was the name assigned!
To A snug Building, severed from the rest,
A Stranger's Wonder & the Sailor's Jest.
She built it not, nor did she much admire;
It was an House, & one that she could hire.
Her first Objection this, It was not nigh
To the poor Objects of her Charity;
But now, when of these Objects she had proof,
She thought it not from rudeness far enough,
From the strange People, who were fierce & rude,
Heartless & hard, & void of Gratitude.
Still there were Places, where a quiet Mind
Might Occupation & Amusement find,
A few small Houses, scatter'd on a Green—
Where not a Seaman or his Wife was seen.
But this, too, failed, 'twas Silence all, & Gloom,
And Winter made a Prizon of her Room;
For tho' she lov'd not Scenes where Noise abound,
Yet here the Calm was awful & profound.
113
Strange Views of Life, that murder'd her repose.
Twice she essay'd, but never long could stay,
E'er the Wish rose, that hurried her Away.
Something Agreed not with her Taste, or worse,
Injured her Health, her Spirits, or her Purse.
A Village then, tho' Poets may prefer
Such Kind of Place, was not a Place for her.
Now will she go, & sitting calmly down,
Enjoy th' Arrangements of a social Town,
Join a few Friends, & with their Aid, at Whist
Stake just as much as never would be mist,
And then a Novel, in a Summer's Day
Or Winter-Night, would pass the Hours Away,
Good Books on Sundays, or a Sermon, read
To soothe the Spirit, not to turn the Head
With horrid Notions of Our Sins & all
That came of Man's frail Nature & his fall;
There, without Trouble and at small Expence,
She might indulge her Heart's Benevolence,
And yearly read in print a fair Account
Of what each Lady gave, & what th' Amount.
Thus known for pious Deeds & social Mind,
There she might Rest & Relaxation find,
Perhaps would gain some female Friend, & then
Have Life & Love, unvex'd with Cares or Men,
All this might do, & this our Widow tried,
For by that Name 'twas prudent to abide,
But sad Impediments, & all unseen,
Came her & her predicted Peace between.
A decent Widow in a Street, where all
The decent People in the Town might call!
Genteel Apartments with her Maid & Boy,
'Twas hard she could not such a State enjoy.
Her Tables too, her Carpet, Cards & Lights,
Were such as few could boast of in their Nights,
With all things handsome, but not Seamen's Wives
Are greater plagues to gentle Widows' Lives
Than all enquiring Ladies!—When she came
114
But then it followed: “In What Class of Life?
“A Widow is she? has she been a Wife?
“Why came she hither, & from whence, & who
“Affirm that all they tell of her is true?
“What know we of her? all beside her Name
“Is Guess, & where there's Secrecy, there's Shame.
“Her very Prudence and Discretion shows
“To all the Knowing What of Life she knows.
“Was she but merry and spake all she thought,
“Why nothing further would be seen or sought,
“But when the Dame is prudent & discreet,
“It shows she would not with Enquirers meet,
“And wraps herself in Silence.”—Thus, in Time,
Was the poor Stranger tax'd with many a Crime.
Ladies grew shy, and ev'n the cheerful few,
That were her Friends, became suspected, too.
She went to Prayers; they wondered what she meant,
But doubtless there was that she must repent.
“And then so civil, we shall ever find
“A Cause for that, for Cowards must be kind.
“But can we visit? can we render cheap
“A Name that costs a World of Care to keep?”
To this not all assented, some believed
That One, whom none accused, might be received:
“Suppose the worst, Admit there was a Stain,
“Shall that for ever as a Mark remain?
“If every Blot must on our Name abide,
“Good Heaven protect us, where can Creatures hide?”
All this, in time, conveyed to her Retreat,
Made our poor Widow's an uneasy Seat.
Wearied & vext, she thought again to flee
In search of Peace, if Peace on Earth could be.
It was not hard to effect a Change of Place,
But who could fly from Censure & Disgrace?—
A pious Matron, who had watched her long,
Who saw her wretched, & who judged her Wrong,
Thought this the Time, when Effort might be made
With good Effect a Sister to persuade.
“Remove, my Dear, & Why? Go where you will,
“This cruel Rumour will persue you still,
“And what can Rumour—Cannot all confess
“More than her Tongues, though countless, can express?
“What are the best & purest of us all,
“But Heirs of Hell & Children of the Fall?
“Art thou not Sinner all? then why repine,
“Because one Frailty is reported thine?
“Grant all they say, & why thy fate deplore?
“Thrice blessed they, where Burdens are no more.”—
Who saw her wretched, & who judged her Wrong,
Thought this the Time, when Effort might be made
With good Effect a Sister to persuade.
115
“This cruel Rumour will persue you still,
“And what can Rumour—Cannot all confess
“More than her Tongues, though countless, can express?
“What are the best & purest of us all,
“But Heirs of Hell & Children of the Fall?
“Art thou not Sinner all? then why repine,
“Because one Frailty is reported thine?
“Grant all they say, & why thy fate deplore?
“Thrice blessed they, where Burdens are no more.”—
“Come thou with me, and thou shalt hear explain'd
“What has been lost, and what shall be regained,
“The One sole Hope, that has for Man remained!—
“And that remains for thee—fly, Sister, fly,
“And leave the World, that is not worth a Sigh.”
“What has been lost, and what shall be regained,
“The One sole Hope, that has for Man remained!—
“And that remains for thee—fly, Sister, fly,
“And leave the World, that is not worth a Sigh.”
Now this good Lady, who possest the Art
To smite the Brain and leave untouch'd the heart,
When she perceived within her Patient's face
Marks of Affright that she mistook for Grace,
Conceived the strongest Hope from that Alarm,
And thought her Words had wrought as by a Charm.
She felt a pleasing hope of making known
To her Soul's Guide a Convert of her own.
To smite the Brain and leave untouch'd the heart,
When she perceived within her Patient's face
Marks of Affright that she mistook for Grace,
Conceived the strongest Hope from that Alarm,
And thought her Words had wrought as by a Charm.
She felt a pleasing hope of making known
To her Soul's Guide a Convert of her own.
Our gentle Widow—Widow let her be,
For she has dearly purchased her Degree—
Had the plain Sense, that sometimes leads us right
In our soft Nature's & persuasion's Spite,
For, though she trembled as her Teacher taught,
Her simple Mind was not to Frenzy wrought.
Her Friend attempted with the warmest Zeal
For her Soul's Health to make her deeply feel,
And to her Meeting & her Teacher brought,
That she might first be frightened, & then taught.
Yet, though she listened with sincere good Will
To be convinced, she was in Darkness still.
Night after Night she to the Meeting went,
And all her Heart to her Instructors lent;
Oft as they sighed, she answer'd with a Sigh,
And even wept, she knew no Reason why,
But caught the Passion's form in unfelt Sympathy.
She watched the Preacher with a curious Look,
And thought he read full well without his Book;
His earnest Manner made her feel a Shame
That she could be so stupid & so tame;
Yet, though by Griefs & Frailty she was One
That seemed a Subject to be wrought upon,
Yet, after many a Sermon, many a Prayer,
She neither felt Assurance nor Dispair.
Not loth, not loving, to their Place she went,
Unsmitten, undismay'd, her Hour she spent,
List'ning, though languid, till the time was come,
And then in Quiet Spirit sought her Home.
For she has dearly purchased her Degree—
Had the plain Sense, that sometimes leads us right
In our soft Nature's & persuasion's Spite,
For, though she trembled as her Teacher taught,
Her simple Mind was not to Frenzy wrought.
Her Friend attempted with the warmest Zeal
For her Soul's Health to make her deeply feel,
And to her Meeting & her Teacher brought,
That she might first be frightened, & then taught.
Yet, though she listened with sincere good Will
To be convinced, she was in Darkness still.
Night after Night she to the Meeting went,
And all her Heart to her Instructors lent;
Oft as they sighed, she answer'd with a Sigh,
And even wept, she knew no Reason why,
116
She watched the Preacher with a curious Look,
And thought he read full well without his Book;
His earnest Manner made her feel a Shame
That she could be so stupid & so tame;
Yet, though by Griefs & Frailty she was One
That seemed a Subject to be wrought upon,
Yet, after many a Sermon, many a Prayer,
She neither felt Assurance nor Dispair.
Not loth, not loving, to their Place she went,
Unsmitten, undismay'd, her Hour she spent,
List'ning, though languid, till the time was come,
And then in Quiet Spirit sought her Home.
All Trial past, it seem'd beyond a Doubt
One so unmoved must ever stand without.
A Sister told her she had not the Grace
To join with them, a Runner in their Race,
A fellow Pilgrim, led by Faith, not Sight,
A fellow Soldier, buckling for the Fight,
Her as a Sister they could not receive,
But she might come—She rather took her Leave.
They would not own her, & she thought [it] rude
For One like her, rejected, to intrude.
While thus she lingered, doubtful to remove,
One known at Meeting came & talked of Love,
A shrewd, keen Man, some forty years of Age,
Who thought he could a Widow'd heart engage,
For he had learn'd the Owner of that Heart,
With it, could much of worldly Wealth impart.
But Dust & Dross, as he assured her, yet
It had its Uses to a Man in debt,
As he assured himself.—He had perceived
That she was One who readily believed,
And, though Impressions quickly past Away,
She might retain them till her wedding Day.
He would have liked it better, had she felt
The Preacher's Power, but Susan did not melt.
But yet not all the Grace of Youth was fled,
Her eye was brilliant, & her Cheeks were Red.
She did not Parties nor Amusements shun,
And was a woman, therefore to be won.
This fixed, the comely Sister he addrest,
And much of pure & zealous Love professt,
Then with a Warmth of Language, which He thought
Must on a Heart of Steel or Stone have wrought,
He prest his Suit, but Susan with a Smile
Demurely looked, & plied her Work the while,
Then calmly thank'd him, beg'd to be excused,
And without Blush or Sigh the Boon refused,
And was so calm, so steady & so cool,
He lost all hope that she would act the Fool.
But this discarded Swain, I grieve to write,
Felt a large Portion of unholy Spite;
He spake so harshly, & he stood so high
Among his Friends, that Susan with a Sigh
From the censorious World prepared to fly.
Seamen & Seamen's Wives were rough & rude,
Village Life was quite a Solitude,
Scandal persued her to her Town Retreat,
And Zeal condemned her where the serious meet.
No Wonder then that, hunted thus, she flew
To the lone Vale, & bade the World Adieu.
Yet Comfort grows not always by the Rills,
By running Brooks or dancing Daffodils,
It is not caught by saying: “Comfort, come”,
But by preparing for It, House & Home;
Let all be quiet, easy, gentle, still,
And you have Comfort, go wheree'er you will.
This Susan found, yet sought it not, but fled,
Like an Hind stricken, & in Secret bled.
There she was found lamenting, but the Grief
That has no Object meets with no Relief.
Her Lamentation was of mingled kind,
And such as cannot be with ease defined.
Yet now the Wanderer found the happiest Seat
That ever Sorrow chose for a Retreat,
A Woodbound Village, with its Dwellings all
Mere Huts, save the Vicar's & the Manor small,
Where a good Lady & the Priest agreed
The Minds & Bodies of his Flock to feed,
And where our Widow's Spirit found at last
Repose from all the Sufferings of the past.
There she was taught that, when a Sinner strays,
“Tis not enough that she believes & prays,
Or names the Name that Christians all Adore,
But she must then repent & sin no more,
Must give to Virtue in her Mind a Place,
And learn that Goodness is the Fruit of Grace.
Now of her Errors she so well conceiv'd
That what they cost her might be yet retriev'd;
In Time, her Self-Reproach became less keen,
And Slander found new Object for its spleen.
Wife, Widow, Mistress, what the Name she bore,
Her contrite Spirit was disturbed no more,
Her Mind was now on better things employ'd,
And yet the World itself was more enjoyed.
Still the Good Lady of the Manor, still
The Good Priest, exerting Heart & Skill,
So to her Mind their better Thoughts applied
That she, in Turn, became the Village Guide.
Month after Month, & Year succeeding Year,
With a light Spirit & a Bosom clear,
She with the Lady sought the House of Prayer
And House of Grief, & join'd the Pastor there.
Easy & placid, happy & obscure,
So might Life pass, & so might long endure,
If One we know, but know not if Alive,
Might not some Mischief in his Rage contrive,
Might not a Spoiler & a Tyrant prove,
And live in Riot on the Spoils of Love.
One so unmoved must ever stand without.
A Sister told her she had not the Grace
To join with them, a Runner in their Race,
A fellow Pilgrim, led by Faith, not Sight,
A fellow Soldier, buckling for the Fight,
Her as a Sister they could not receive,
But she might come—She rather took her Leave.
They would not own her, & she thought [it] rude
For One like her, rejected, to intrude.
While thus she lingered, doubtful to remove,
One known at Meeting came & talked of Love,
A shrewd, keen Man, some forty years of Age,
Who thought he could a Widow'd heart engage,
For he had learn'd the Owner of that Heart,
With it, could much of worldly Wealth impart.
But Dust & Dross, as he assured her, yet
It had its Uses to a Man in debt,
As he assured himself.—He had perceived
That she was One who readily believed,
And, though Impressions quickly past Away,
She might retain them till her wedding Day.
He would have liked it better, had she felt
The Preacher's Power, but Susan did not melt.
But yet not all the Grace of Youth was fled,
Her eye was brilliant, & her Cheeks were Red.
117
And was a woman, therefore to be won.
This fixed, the comely Sister he addrest,
And much of pure & zealous Love professt,
Then with a Warmth of Language, which He thought
Must on a Heart of Steel or Stone have wrought,
He prest his Suit, but Susan with a Smile
Demurely looked, & plied her Work the while,
Then calmly thank'd him, beg'd to be excused,
And without Blush or Sigh the Boon refused,
And was so calm, so steady & so cool,
He lost all hope that she would act the Fool.
But this discarded Swain, I grieve to write,
Felt a large Portion of unholy Spite;
He spake so harshly, & he stood so high
Among his Friends, that Susan with a Sigh
From the censorious World prepared to fly.
Seamen & Seamen's Wives were rough & rude,
Village Life was quite a Solitude,
Scandal persued her to her Town Retreat,
And Zeal condemned her where the serious meet.
No Wonder then that, hunted thus, she flew
To the lone Vale, & bade the World Adieu.
Yet Comfort grows not always by the Rills,
By running Brooks or dancing Daffodils,
It is not caught by saying: “Comfort, come”,
But by preparing for It, House & Home;
Let all be quiet, easy, gentle, still,
And you have Comfort, go wheree'er you will.
This Susan found, yet sought it not, but fled,
Like an Hind stricken, & in Secret bled.
There she was found lamenting, but the Grief
That has no Object meets with no Relief.
Her Lamentation was of mingled kind,
And such as cannot be with ease defined.
Yet now the Wanderer found the happiest Seat
That ever Sorrow chose for a Retreat,
A Woodbound Village, with its Dwellings all
Mere Huts, save the Vicar's & the Manor small,
118
The Minds & Bodies of his Flock to feed,
And where our Widow's Spirit found at last
Repose from all the Sufferings of the past.
There she was taught that, when a Sinner strays,
“Tis not enough that she believes & prays,
Or names the Name that Christians all Adore,
But she must then repent & sin no more,
Must give to Virtue in her Mind a Place,
And learn that Goodness is the Fruit of Grace.
Now of her Errors she so well conceiv'd
That what they cost her might be yet retriev'd;
In Time, her Self-Reproach became less keen,
And Slander found new Object for its spleen.
Wife, Widow, Mistress, what the Name she bore,
Her contrite Spirit was disturbed no more,
Her Mind was now on better things employ'd,
And yet the World itself was more enjoyed.
Still the Good Lady of the Manor, still
The Good Priest, exerting Heart & Skill,
So to her Mind their better Thoughts applied
That she, in Turn, became the Village Guide.
Month after Month, & Year succeeding Year,
With a light Spirit & a Bosom clear,
She with the Lady sought the House of Prayer
And House of Grief, & join'd the Pastor there.
Easy & placid, happy & obscure,
So might Life pass, & so might long endure,
If One we know, but know not if Alive,
Might not some Mischief in his Rage contrive,
Might not a Spoiler & a Tyrant prove,
And live in Riot on the Spoils of Love.
Oft had she seen, where Fortune set her down,
Some fine old Soldiers tramping through the Town,
When Thoughts would vex her of that handsome Youth,
To whom she vow'd Obedience, Love & Truth.
Yet came he not, to whom she made the Vow,
And Hope conceived it was unlikely now.
He fell in Battle: or was far from Home,
Or, drinking, died—in short, he would not come.
Some fine old Soldiers tramping through the Town,
When Thoughts would vex her of that handsome Youth,
To whom she vow'd Obedience, Love & Truth.
Yet came he not, to whom she made the Vow,
And Hope conceived it was unlikely now.
He fell in Battle: or was far from Home,
119
So long these Friends together dwelt, so long
Each other Aided, that the Tye was strong,
The same their Taste, their Ages, too, the same,
And both were Widows, or possessed the Name,
Till the glad Heroine of our Tale confessed,
Like all the happy—that which is is best.
Each other Aided, that the Tye was strong,
The same their Taste, their Ages, too, the same,
And both were Widows, or possessed the Name,
Till the glad Heroine of our Tale confessed,
Like all the happy—that which is is best.
To many a Cottage the kind Pair wd stray;
Go where they would, they could not loose their Way.
In some poor household they would find a Seat,
And hear the Children what they taught repeat.
Where stands the Parish Bound a Cottage stood,
Just at the Entrance of a noble Wood,
A larger Cottage this, though not a Farm,
With Land annexed, to keep the Woodman warm.
It was a favourite Walk, the Widowed Pair
Amusement found, & left Instruction there.
In Youth the Woodman had a Soldier been,
And much of Hazard, nay, of Horror seen,
Seen many a Comrade droop, & strove to steel
His heart, but still the Woes of War could feel
With Other Woes; He home returned to trace
The long lov'd Features in his Father's face,
To lay him in his Grave, & fill his humble Place.
To him, now married, & a favourite Room
That she erected, would the Lady come
In Summer oft; 'twas now the Time of Year
When the red Cornel & wild Plumb appear,
When the brown Wood has all its Verdure lost,
And the faint Sun just melts the Morning frost,
When Gossimer o'er stubbled Fields is spread,
And the Dew glitters on the filmy Thread.
Go where they would, they could not loose their Way.
In some poor household they would find a Seat,
And hear the Children what they taught repeat.
Where stands the Parish Bound a Cottage stood,
Just at the Entrance of a noble Wood,
A larger Cottage this, though not a Farm,
With Land annexed, to keep the Woodman warm.
It was a favourite Walk, the Widowed Pair
Amusement found, & left Instruction there.
In Youth the Woodman had a Soldier been,
And much of Hazard, nay, of Horror seen,
Seen many a Comrade droop, & strove to steel
His heart, but still the Woes of War could feel
With Other Woes; He home returned to trace
The long lov'd Features in his Father's face,
To lay him in his Grave, & fill his humble Place.
To him, now married, & a favourite Room
That she erected, would the Lady come
In Summer oft; 'twas now the Time of Year
When the red Cornel & wild Plumb appear,
When the brown Wood has all its Verdure lost,
And the faint Sun just melts the Morning frost,
When Gossimer o'er stubbled Fields is spread,
And the Dew glitters on the filmy Thread.
Such was the Morning, cold but frosty-fair,
And the two Friends would take the bracing Air.
With steddy pace their purpose they persue,
And near the Cottage of the Woodman drew.
He saw their coming, knew they would require
The pleasing Solace of their Parlour fire.
And the two Friends would take the bracing Air.
With steddy pace their purpose they persue,
And near the Cottage of the Woodman drew.
He saw their coming, knew they would require
The pleasing Solace of their Parlour fire.
Then to a Guest—“There comes my Friend”, said he,
“The best of Ladies to my Spouse & me.
“Sit & be cheerful, never Man had Guest,
“More pleased with us & Men like us to rest.
“They will not tarry.”—then with pleasant Look
He met the coming pair, & cheerful spoke.
120
“Sit & be cheerful, never Man had Guest,
“More pleased with us & Men like us to rest.
“They will not tarry.”—then with pleasant Look
He met the coming pair, & cheerful spoke.
“Your Pardon, Ladies, two days since I gained
“A worthy Guest, who has with me remain'd.
“I crave Permission, as you reach my Cot,
“To show the rare good Fellow I have got.
“He reads, no Parson in his Desk so clear,
“And sings his Psalm, it does me good to hear.
“He's travel'd far, in many a foreign Part,
“And has their antient Histories by Heart,
“But on his private Fortunes, smooth or rough,
“I cannot speak, yet is he free enough;
“He talks of early Faillures, just as one
“With whom they long have all their mischief done,
“Whom they no longer as his Tempters seize,
“But he reviews them with a Mind at Ease.
“Two Days my Guest, he loves the Country well,
“And seems disposed in our good Land to dwell;
“On Wright's fair freehold once he fixed his Eye.
“‘A decent Place’, said he, ‘if one could buy.’
“‘It must be sold’, I answered, & he stood,
“As when a Man considers: ‘If I could’—
“Then turned Away, & ‘If’, he cried, ‘but no,
“‘It is too great a—Comrade, let us go.’
“Price did he mean? a longing Eye he cast
“Upon that Cot—It will be his at last.”
“Enough, good Robert”, said the Pair, “take heed
“Of pious Rovers—we shall soon proceed.
“In this your Parlour we awhile will rest,
“And need not interrupt you or your Guest.”
“A worthy Guest, who has with me remain'd.
“I crave Permission, as you reach my Cot,
“To show the rare good Fellow I have got.
“He reads, no Parson in his Desk so clear,
“And sings his Psalm, it does me good to hear.
“He's travel'd far, in many a foreign Part,
“And has their antient Histories by Heart,
“But on his private Fortunes, smooth or rough,
“I cannot speak, yet is he free enough;
“He talks of early Faillures, just as one
“With whom they long have all their mischief done,
“Whom they no longer as his Tempters seize,
“But he reviews them with a Mind at Ease.
“Two Days my Guest, he loves the Country well,
“And seems disposed in our good Land to dwell;
“On Wright's fair freehold once he fixed his Eye.
“‘A decent Place’, said he, ‘if one could buy.’
“‘It must be sold’, I answered, & he stood,
“As when a Man considers: ‘If I could’—
“Then turned Away, & ‘If’, he cried, ‘but no,
“‘It is too great a—Comrade, let us go.’
“Price did he mean? a longing Eye he cast
“Upon that Cot—It will be his at last.”
“Enough, good Robert”, said the Pair, “take heed
“Of pious Rovers—we shall soon proceed.
“In this your Parlour we awhile will rest,
“And need not interrupt you or your Guest.”
Soon they were seated, & began to talk
Of the Day's Purpose & the Morning Walk,
Smiled at their Tenant's Speech, & wondered how
He could such merit to such Man allow,
But soon their Wonder and their Smiles were chect
By such Discourse as they could not expect.
Of the Day's Purpose & the Morning Walk,
Smiled at their Tenant's Speech, & wondered how
He could such merit to such Man allow,
But soon their Wonder and their Smiles were chect
By such Discourse as they could not expect.
121
Who now appears 'tis useless to explain,
And would we hide it, we shall try in vain.
“Thanks, my good Friend, you've lodg'd me well, & fed,
“I'm much your Debtor both for Board & Bed,
“Thanks to our Comrade, who could so commend
“A Brother Soldier to an antient Friend.
“Oft has he told of your Adventures past,
“And wondered where you found an home at last;
“He could not hope that in a State like this
“You tasted Life's first Good, domestic Bliss.
“And fairly now, with just Return to deal,
“I ought my poor Adventures to reveal.
“The Ladies, Yes, I understand your Sign,
“But let them hear—the Penalty is mine.
“I shall not fright them, Whosoe'er begins
“To tell his Deeds has mercy on his Sins;
“Speaks he of Vice, he gives the softest Name
“And never means to cloath himself with Shame.
“What I confess, you may as fact believe,
“And what I say not, to your thoughts I leave.
And would we hide it, we shall try in vain.
“Thanks, my good Friend, you've lodg'd me well, & fed,
“I'm much your Debtor both for Board & Bed,
“Thanks to our Comrade, who could so commend
“A Brother Soldier to an antient Friend.
“Oft has he told of your Adventures past,
“And wondered where you found an home at last;
“He could not hope that in a State like this
“You tasted Life's first Good, domestic Bliss.
“And fairly now, with just Return to deal,
“I ought my poor Adventures to reveal.
“The Ladies, Yes, I understand your Sign,
“But let them hear—the Penalty is mine.
“I shall not fright them, Whosoe'er begins
“To tell his Deeds has mercy on his Sins;
“Speaks he of Vice, he gives the softest Name
“And never means to cloath himself with Shame.
“What I confess, you may as fact believe,
“And what I say not, to your thoughts I leave.
“I was a Spendthrift Youth, of Spirit high,
“And proud to lead a thriftless Company.
“They loved me well, & they assign'd a Name,
“Which I thought Honour, & my Mother Shame.
“I once escaped, but could not long refrain
“From the vile Haunt, but eager sought again
“The Wine that made me Mad, the Praise that made me vain.
“No more Escape, I left the Wife I loved,
“When my own heart the cruel Deed approved.
“Then Ruin followed Trouble, Shame, Disgrace,
“For I had quickly run my sinful Race.
“My Wife had left me, left the Man whose Life
“Deserved no better. I had left my Wife,
“But this I pass; In fact, I know not how
“To bear a Subject so distressing now.
“Hark! did I hear? No, Silent! I will on.
“Wife, Fortune, Friends & Character were gone.
“Dig, beg or steal, say which should I prefer,
“And which best suits a ruin'd Character?
“I chose not these, to beg I was too young,
“Nor mine the lying, supplicating Tongue,
“Labour was slavish in mine Evil Eye,
“And my Soul spurn'd the Crime of Robbery,
“So I inlisted—'twas the last, best Thing.
“I could at least of War & Warriors sing,
“Of Arms, & Honour's Form, & my Sovereign Lord the King.
“‘March’ was the Word; in Climate Cold or Hot,
“Shod or unshod, I took the Soldiers' Lot.
“In many a Field I fought & had my Thanks,
“In Common with the Heroes of the Ranks,
“Till Chance, Good Conduct & a lucky Day
“Gave me Advance in Glory, Rank & Pay.
“I now ambitious as successful grew,
“As in ascending we enlarge our View,
“And, proud of Fortune's favours, I began
“To think it true that what we will, we can,
“But a deep Wound & long Confinement made
“A Way for One to rule me & persuade.
“That Wound—see here the Token that I hide,
“Or show, as moved by Penitence or Pride.
“He as a Parent my Affection sway'd,
“And, loving him, I listened & obeyed.
“To him I owe, as far as Man can give,
“My Peace of Mind, the Hope in which I live,
“And that, with all my Errors past, I feel
“Who smites can pity, & who wounds can heal.
“And proud to lead a thriftless Company.
“They loved me well, & they assign'd a Name,
“Which I thought Honour, & my Mother Shame.
“I once escaped, but could not long refrain
“From the vile Haunt, but eager sought again
“The Wine that made me Mad, the Praise that made me vain.
“No more Escape, I left the Wife I loved,
“When my own heart the cruel Deed approved.
“Then Ruin followed Trouble, Shame, Disgrace,
“For I had quickly run my sinful Race.
“My Wife had left me, left the Man whose Life
“Deserved no better. I had left my Wife,
“But this I pass; In fact, I know not how
“To bear a Subject so distressing now.
“Hark! did I hear? No, Silent! I will on.
“Wife, Fortune, Friends & Character were gone.
“Dig, beg or steal, say which should I prefer,
“And which best suits a ruin'd Character?
122
“Nor mine the lying, supplicating Tongue,
“Labour was slavish in mine Evil Eye,
“And my Soul spurn'd the Crime of Robbery,
“So I inlisted—'twas the last, best Thing.
“I could at least of War & Warriors sing,
“Of Arms, & Honour's Form, & my Sovereign Lord the King.
“‘March’ was the Word; in Climate Cold or Hot,
“Shod or unshod, I took the Soldiers' Lot.
“In many a Field I fought & had my Thanks,
“In Common with the Heroes of the Ranks,
“Till Chance, Good Conduct & a lucky Day
“Gave me Advance in Glory, Rank & Pay.
“I now ambitious as successful grew,
“As in ascending we enlarge our View,
“And, proud of Fortune's favours, I began
“To think it true that what we will, we can,
“But a deep Wound & long Confinement made
“A Way for One to rule me & persuade.
“That Wound—see here the Token that I hide,
“Or show, as moved by Penitence or Pride.
“He as a Parent my Affection sway'd,
“And, loving him, I listened & obeyed.
“To him I owe, as far as Man can give,
“My Peace of Mind, the Hope in which I live,
“And that, with all my Errors past, I feel
“Who smites can pity, & who wounds can heal.
“A few weeks since I stood on English Ground,
“But here no Home, no friendly Welcome found,
“All dark the Views, that once could cause Delight,
“All dead, that once could lively thoughts excite.
“In vain my Views from Place to Place I change,
“All Scenes are joyless & all Faces strange.
“I sought my native Town, but whom to see?
“Not one remains, who felt one Care for me.
“Still I remember—would I could forget,
“A Tye that bound me Once, & binds me yet;
“There is One Being in the World, that one
“Whom I must seek, yet ought I not to shun?
“Your House of Comfort I behold, & know
“No Place to me that Comfort can bestow;
“This stirs the angry Spirit, that in Views
“Of War & Blood, its own Distress would loose,
“And then I need that Friend, who might controul
“Its Rage & speak Submission to my Soul.”
Here ceased the Soldier, and, “Hast thou enquired
“Where has that Mistress of thine Heart retired?”
Rejoin'd the Woodman—“O! the Day will come,
“When you, like me, will have your happy Home.”
“But here no Home, no friendly Welcome found,
“All dark the Views, that once could cause Delight,
“All dead, that once could lively thoughts excite.
“In vain my Views from Place to Place I change,
“All Scenes are joyless & all Faces strange.
“I sought my native Town, but whom to see?
“Not one remains, who felt one Care for me.
“Still I remember—would I could forget,
“A Tye that bound me Once, & binds me yet;
“There is One Being in the World, that one
123
“Your House of Comfort I behold, & know
“No Place to me that Comfort can bestow;
“This stirs the angry Spirit, that in Views
“Of War & Blood, its own Distress would loose,
“And then I need that Friend, who might controul
“Its Rage & speak Submission to my Soul.”
Here ceased the Soldier, and, “Hast thou enquired
“Where has that Mistress of thine Heart retired?”
Rejoin'd the Woodman—“O! the Day will come,
“When you, like me, will have your happy Home.”
“It may not be;”, replied the Man of Arms,
“I came to save her from a World of harms,
“Griefs & Temptations, and those sinful Tyes,
“That oft from Want, & not from Vice, arise;
“I thought her poor, & wished to make her free
“From all the Snares & Stings of Poverty,
“To share with her my Portion, & to live
“In Love, apart, both willing to forgive,
“And both forgiven—this in all the Pride
“Of Injured Man I sought; but was denied!
“Wants she had none: far more than I could do
“Was done! but let me not my Tale persue.
“She lives, no question, in Superior Style,
“Her Means are ample, but their Source is vile—
“Yet much I learn'd, that I can well approve,
“But I must leave her in that State to move,
“And think no more of Poins & his yet lingering Love.
“I came to save her from a World of harms,
“Griefs & Temptations, and those sinful Tyes,
“That oft from Want, & not from Vice, arise;
“I thought her poor, & wished to make her free
“From all the Snares & Stings of Poverty,
“To share with her my Portion, & to live
“In Love, apart, both willing to forgive,
“And both forgiven—this in all the Pride
“Of Injured Man I sought; but was denied!
“Wants she had none: far more than I could do
“Was done! but let me not my Tale persue.
“She lives, no question, in Superior Style,
“Her Means are ample, but their Source is vile—
“Yet much I learn'd, that I can well approve,
“But I must leave her in that State to move,
“And think no more of Poins & his yet lingering Love.
“Again there seems Alarm, & this denies
“Our further Converse—whence can it arise?”
He asked, who needed not, for well he knew
All that had past, & judged what might ensue.
Much he foresaw, that need not be detailed,
And Fortune favour'd, where his foresight failed.
“Our further Converse—whence can it arise?”
He asked, who needed not, for well he knew
All that had past, & judged what might ensue.
Much he foresaw, that need not be detailed,
And Fortune favour'd, where his foresight failed.
There's not one Simile of all the Tribe
That can this Cottage Interview describe.
Hope, Love & Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling Race,
Were there, & there Shame, Terrour & Disgrace,
All these, with transcient Passions, born to die
As other Passions gained the Victory.
“'Tis he”, was uttered with an heavy Sigh,
“O let me hear that he forgives, & die.”
“'Tis she”, the Soldier cried, “& does she live,
“And will she be forgiven, & forgive?”
That can this Cottage Interview describe.
Hope, Love & Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling Race,
Were there, & there Shame, Terrour & Disgrace,
All these, with transcient Passions, born to die
124
“'Tis he”, was uttered with an heavy Sigh,
“O let me hear that he forgives, & die.”
“'Tis she”, the Soldier cried, “& does she live,
“And will she be forgiven, & forgive?”
It was, the Woodman fancied, as the Sound
Of sudden Storm that flies the Forrest round,
Tumultuous, not terrific, then to cease
In a soft Calm, till all around is Peace.
Of sudden Storm that flies the Forrest round,
Tumultuous, not terrific, then to cease
In a soft Calm, till all around is Peace.
The good widow of the Village Hall,
Who knew their feelings, & who felt for all,
Some weeks elapsing, thus a Friend address'd:
Who knew their feelings, & who felt for all,
Some weeks elapsing, thus a Friend address'd:
“This is the State in which the Wanderers rest.
“You know their Story, how they met, & how
“They parted Once, and are approaching Now.
“Poins, as they named him in his careless youth,
“Preserves unstained Integrity & Truth.
“He has a Pension, and has learned to save
“No trifling part from that his Fortune gave.
“He has enough, nay, more, he has to spare,
“Nor will he in her larger Income share,
“But with his decent House, his Garden trim,
“And his few Books—mine, too, are free to him—
“With cheerful Views of Life he seems to live,
“And giving wisely, still has Means to give.
“‘Let her’, he says, ‘her odious Wealth resign,
“‘And share with me; what I can boast is mine.
“‘Can I her Comforts taste, or could they be
“‘Other than Gall & Bitterness to me?’—
“To this I answer, ‘She received the Price
“‘Of Fear, Remorse & Sorrow, not of Vice.
“‘Vice no Provision made, but, Death in View,
“‘He did what Virtue summon'd him to do—
“‘It was not given a wanton's Heart to win,
“‘'Twas Sorrow's Gift, & not the Pay of Sin.’
“Thus I addressed our Soldier, who the while
“Lent a light Ear, & answered with a Smile.
“My Simpler Friend admits her Husband's Pride
“By her past Errors to be justified;
“And, but she listens to my Speech, would fling
“Her Store Away & to his Pittence cling,
“Forsake each Comfort that her Station needs,
“And bid Adieu to charitable Deeds!
“Would in his Cottage find a cold Retreat,
“And cook th' unsavoury Food she could not eat.
“You know their Story, how they met, & how
“They parted Once, and are approaching Now.
“Poins, as they named him in his careless youth,
“Preserves unstained Integrity & Truth.
“He has a Pension, and has learned to save
“No trifling part from that his Fortune gave.
“He has enough, nay, more, he has to spare,
“Nor will he in her larger Income share,
“But with his decent House, his Garden trim,
“And his few Books—mine, too, are free to him—
“With cheerful Views of Life he seems to live,
“And giving wisely, still has Means to give.
“‘Let her’, he says, ‘her odious Wealth resign,
“‘And share with me; what I can boast is mine.
“‘Can I her Comforts taste, or could they be
“‘Other than Gall & Bitterness to me?’—
“To this I answer, ‘She received the Price
“‘Of Fear, Remorse & Sorrow, not of Vice.
“‘Vice no Provision made, but, Death in View,
“‘He did what Virtue summon'd him to do—
“‘It was not given a wanton's Heart to win,
“‘'Twas Sorrow's Gift, & not the Pay of Sin.’
“Thus I addressed our Soldier, who the while
“Lent a light Ear, & answered with a Smile.
“My Simpler Friend admits her Husband's Pride
“By her past Errors to be justified;
125
“Her Store Away & to his Pittence cling,
“Forsake each Comfort that her Station needs,
“And bid Adieu to charitable Deeds!
“Would in his Cottage find a cold Retreat,
“And cook th' unsavoury Food she could not eat.
“All this both hear, they know me for their friend
“And Will! nay must, to my Advice attend.
“And Will! nay must, to my Advice attend.
“Meantime, each day some new Remembrance brings,
“Some Recollection of past pleasant things,
“Some Gay-day's Pleasure, which they gaily spent,
“When a light Laugh would serve for Incident,
“The Village Walks, where all they heard or saw
“Drew them along as Love & Pleasure draw,
“While the Brook's murmur & the vocal Grove
“Were all they needed who were linked in Love;
“These & the like Endearments, now no more,
“Present the Views that time can not restore,
“And, like the shadows of some brilliant thing,
“A soft'ned Image of the Substance bring.
“Some Recollection of past pleasant things,
“Some Gay-day's Pleasure, which they gaily spent,
“When a light Laugh would serve for Incident,
“The Village Walks, where all they heard or saw
“Drew them along as Love & Pleasure draw,
“While the Brook's murmur & the vocal Grove
“Were all they needed who were linked in Love;
“These & the like Endearments, now no more,
“Present the Views that time can not restore,
“And, like the shadows of some brilliant thing,
“A soft'ned Image of the Substance bring.
“These form their Subjects, & 'tis plain how sweet
“Is this Review of Pleasures when they meet,
“And they would part with still-increasing Pain,
“But for the Comfort—‘We shall meet Again.’
“Is this Review of Pleasures when they meet,
“And they would part with still-increasing Pain,
“But for the Comfort—‘We shall meet Again.’
“As tender Lovers, they no more can taste
“Life's early Pleasure—it has run to waste.
“There shall no Raptures in their Walks be met,
“No Shame nor Fear, no Prizon, Dun or Debt,
“No fierce Enjoyments theirs, & no severe Regret.
“But they with quiet Spirit may enjoy
“The Easy Pleasure & the light Employ,
“That Love may not increase, but Care will not distroy.
“Life's early Pleasure—it has run to waste.
“There shall no Raptures in their Walks be met,
“No Shame nor Fear, no Prizon, Dun or Debt,
“No fierce Enjoyments theirs, & no severe Regret.
“But they with quiet Spirit may enjoy
“The Easy Pleasure & the light Employ,
“That Love may not increase, but Care will not distroy.
“No Poins, no Jesse, talk of Dark & Flames,
“Richard & Susan take their Infant Names,
“And now together feel that slow Decay,
“With which the best & happiest pass Away.”
“Richard & Susan take their Infant Names,
“And now together feel that slow Decay,
“With which the best & happiest pass Away.”
| New Poems by George Crabbe | |