The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son. In eight volumes |
 | I. | VOL. I. [LIFE OF CRABBE.] |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| II. |
| III, IV, V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII. |
 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe |  |
v
I. VOL. I. [LIFE OF CRABBE.]
8
[CHAPTER I.]
[1754–1775.]
[“But it was misery stung me in the day]
“But it was misery stung me in the dayDeath of an infant sister made his prey;
For then first met and moved my early fears
A father's terrors and a mother's tears.
Though greater anguish I have since endured,
Some heal'd in part, some never to be cured,
Yet was there something in that first-born ill
So new, so strange, that memory feels it still.”
13
[“Sweet was the morning's breath, the inland tide]
“Sweet was the morning's breath, the inland tide,
And our boat gliding, where alone could glide
Small craft—and they oft touch'd on either side.
It was my first-born joy—I heard them say,
‘Let the child go; he will enjoy the day;
For children ever feel delighted when
They take their portion and enjoy with men.’
“The linnet chirp'd upon the furze as well,
To my young sense, as sings the nightingale.
Without was Paradise—because within
Was a keen relish, without taint of sin.”
And our boat gliding, where alone could glide
Small craft—and they oft touch'd on either side.
It was my first-born joy—I heard them say,
‘Let the child go; he will enjoy the day;
For children ever feel delighted when
They take their portion and enjoy with men.’
14
To my young sense, as sings the nightingale.
Without was Paradise—because within
Was a keen relish, without taint of sin.”
—“As the sun declined,
The good found early I no more could find.
The men drank much to whet the appetite,
And, growing heavy, drank to make them light;
Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite.
The lads play'd idly with the helm and oar,
And nervous women would be set on shore,
And ‘civil dudgeon’ grew, and peace would smile no more,
Till on the colder water faintly shone
The sloping light—the cheerful day was gone.
In life's advance, events like this I knew,—
So they advanced, and so they ended too.
The promised joy, that like this morning rose,
Broke on the view—then clouded at its close.”
The good found early I no more could find.
The men drank much to whet the appetite,
And, growing heavy, drank to make them light;
Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite.
The lads play'd idly with the helm and oar,
And nervous women would be set on shore,
And ‘civil dudgeon’ grew, and peace would smile no more,
Till on the colder water faintly shone
The sloping light—the cheerful day was gone.
In life's advance, events like this I knew,—
So they advanced, and so they ended too.
The promised joy, that like this morning rose,
Broke on the view—then clouded at its close.”
18
[—“I to the ocean gave]
—“I to the ocean gave
My mind, and thoughts as restless as the wave.
Where crowds assembled I was sure to run,
Hear what was said, and muse on what was done.
To me the wives of seamen loved to tell
What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;
No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach
But I could give the luckless tale of each.
In fact, I lived for many an idle year
In fond pursuit of agitations dear:
For ever seeking, ever pleased to find
The food I sought, I thought not of its kind.
My mind, and thoughts as restless as the wave.
Where crowds assembled I was sure to run,
Hear what was said, and muse on what was done.
To me the wives of seamen loved to tell
What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;
No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach
But I could give the luckless tale of each.
In fact, I lived for many an idle year
In fond pursuit of agitations dear:
For ever seeking, ever pleased to find
The food I sought, I thought not of its kind.
“I loved to walk where none had walk'd before,
About the rocks that ran along the shore;
Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my way:
For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath.
Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean-flood,
With not a sound beside, except when flew
Aloft the lapwing, or the grey curlew. . . .
When I no more my fancy could employ—
I left in haste what I could not enjoy,
And was my gentle mother's welcome boy.”
About the rocks that ran along the shore;
Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my way:
For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath.
Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean-flood,
With not a sound beside, except when flew
Aloft the lapwing, or the grey curlew. . . .
When I no more my fancy could employ—
I left in haste what I could not enjoy,
And was my gentle mother's welcome boy.”
22
[“But, above all, the poet owns thy powers—]
“But, above all, the poet owns thy powers—Hope leads him on, and every fear devours;
He writes, and, unsuccessful, writes again,
Nor thinks the last laborious work in vain;
New schemes he forms, and various plots he tries,
To win the laurel, and possess the prize.”
23
[“My days, oh ye lovers, were happily sped]
“My days, oh ye lovers, were happily sped,
Ere you or your whimsies got into my head;
I could laugh, I could sing, I could trifle and jest,
And my heart play'd a regular tune in my breast.
But now, lack-a-day! what a change for the worse,
'Tis as heavy as lead, yet as wild as a horse.
Ere you or your whimsies got into my head;
I could laugh, I could sing, I could trifle and jest,
And my heart play'd a regular tune in my breast.
But now, lack-a-day! what a change for the worse,
'Tis as heavy as lead, yet as wild as a horse.
“My fingers, ere love had tormented my mind,
Could guide my pen gently to what I design'd.
I could make an enigma, a rebus, or riddle,
Or tell a short tale of a dog and a fiddle
But since this vile Cupid has got in my brain,
I beg of the gods to assist in my strain.
And whatever my subject, the fancy still roves,
And sings of hearts, raptures, flames, sorrows, and loves.”
Could guide my pen gently to what I design'd.
I could make an enigma, a rebus, or riddle,
Or tell a short tale of a dog and a fiddle
But since this vile Cupid has got in my brain,
I beg of the gods to assist in my strain.
And whatever my subject, the fancy still roves,
And sings of hearts, raptures, flames, sorrows, and loves.”
24
“THE WISH.
“My Mira, shepherds, is as fair
As sylvan nymphs who haunt the vale,
As sylphs who dwell in purest air,
As fays who skim the dusky dale,
As Venus was when Venus fled
From watery Triton's oozy bed.
As sylvan nymphs who haunt the vale,
As sylphs who dwell in purest air,
As fays who skim the dusky dale,
As Venus was when Venus fled
From watery Triton's oozy bed.
“My Mira, shepherds, has a voice
As soft as Syrinx in her grove,
As sweet as echo makes her choice,
As mild as whispering virgin-love;
As gentle as the winding stream,
Or fancy's song when poets dream.” &c. &c.
As soft as Syrinx in her grove,
As sweet as echo makes her choice,
As mild as whispering virgin-love;
As gentle as the winding stream,
Or fancy's song when poets dream.” &c. &c.
34
[CHAPTER II.]
[1775–1780.]
[“If once induced these cordial sips to try]
“If once induced these cordial sips to try,All feel the ease, and few the danger fly;
For while obtain'd, of drams they've all the force,
And when denied, then drams are the resource.”
35
[“Ah! blest be the days when with Mira I took]
“Ah! blest be the days when with Mira I tookThe learning of Love. . . . . .
When we pluck'd the wild blossoms that blush'd in the grass,
And I taught my dear maid of their species and class;
For Conway, the friend of mankind, had decreed
That Hudson should show us the wealth of the mead.”
46
[“The hour arrived! I sigh'd and said]
“The hour arrived! I sigh'd and said,
How soon the happiest hours are fled!
On wings of down they lately flew,
But then their moments pass'd with you;
And still with you could I but be,
On downy wings they'd always flee.
How soon the happiest hours are fled!
On wings of down they lately flew,
But then their moments pass'd with you;
And still with you could I but be,
On downy wings they'd always flee.
“Say, did you not, the way you went,
Feel the soft balm of gay content?
Say, did you not all pleasures find,
Of which you left so few behind?
I think you did: for well I know
My parting prayer would make it so
Feel the soft balm of gay content?
Say, did you not all pleasures find,
Of which you left so few behind?
I think you did: for well I know
My parting prayer would make it so
“May she, I said, life's choicest goods partake,
Those, late in life, for nobler still forsake—
The bliss of one, th' esteem'd of many live,
With all that Friendship would, and all that Love can give!”
Those, late in life, for nobler still forsake—
The bliss of one, th' esteem'd of many live,
With all that Friendship would, and all that Love can give!”
48
CHAPTER III.
1780.
49
[“When summer's tribe, her rosy tribe, are fled]
“When summer's tribe, her rosy tribe, are fled,And drooping beauty mourns her blossoms shed,
Some humbler sweet may cheer the pensive swain,
And simpler beauties deck the withering plain.
And thus when Verse her wint'ry prospect weeps,
When Pope is gone, and mighty Milton sleeps,
When Gray in lofty lines has ceased to soar,
And gentle Goldsmith charms the town no more,
An humbler Bard the widow'd Muse invites,
Who led by hope and inclination writes:
With half their art, he tries the soul to move,
And swell the softer strain with themes of love.”
58
[“Of substance I've thought, and the varied disputes]
“Of substance I've thought, and the varied disputesOn the nature of man and the notions of brutes;
Of systems confuted, and systems explain'd,
Of science disputed, and tenets maintain'd..
These, and such speculations on these kind of things,
Have robb'd my poor Muse of her plume and her wings;
Consumed the phlogiston you used to admire,
The spirit extracted, extinguish'd the fire;
Let out all the ether, so pure and refined,
And left but a mere caput mortuum behind.”
[“Who thus aspiring sings? would'st thou explore]
“Who thus aspiring sings? would'st thou explore;
A Bard replies, who ne'er assumed before,—
One taught in hard affliction's school to bear
Life's ills, where every lesson costs a tear,
Who sees from thence, the proper point of view,
What the wise heed not, and the weak pursue.
[OMITTED]
A Bard replies, who ne'er assumed before,—
One taught in hard affliction's school to bear
Life's ills, where every lesson costs a tear,
Who sees from thence, the proper point of view,
What the wise heed not, and the weak pursue.
“And now farewell, the drooping Muse exclaims.
She lothly leaves thee to the shock of war,
And, fondly dwelling on her princely tar,
Wishes the noblest good her Harry's share,
Without her misery and without her care.
For, ah! unknown to thee, a rueful train,
Her hapless children, sigh, and sigh in vain;
A numerous band, denied the boon to die,
Half-starved, half-fed by fits of charity.
Unknown to thee! and yet, perhaps, thy ear
Has chanced each sad, amusing tale to hear,
How some, like Budgell, madly sank for ease;
How some, like Savage, sicken'd by degrees;
How a pale crew, like helpless Otway, shed
The proud big tear on song-extorted bread;
Or knew, like Goldsmith, some would stoop to choose
Contempt, and for the mortar quit the Muse.
She lothly leaves thee to the shock of war,
And, fondly dwelling on her princely tar,
Wishes the noblest good her Harry's share,
Without her misery and without her care.
For, ah! unknown to thee, a rueful train,
Her hapless children, sigh, and sigh in vain;
59
Half-starved, half-fed by fits of charity.
Unknown to thee! and yet, perhaps, thy ear
Has chanced each sad, amusing tale to hear,
How some, like Budgell, madly sank for ease;
How some, like Savage, sicken'd by degrees;
How a pale crew, like helpless Otway, shed
The proud big tear on song-extorted bread;
Or knew, like Goldsmith, some would stoop to choose
Contempt, and for the mortar quit the Muse.
“One of this train—and of these wretches one—
Slave to the Muses, and to Misery son—
Now prays the Father of all Fates to shed,
On Henry, laurels; on his poet, bread!
Slave to the Muses, and to Misery son—
Now prays the Father of all Fates to shed,
On Henry, laurels; on his poet, bread!
“Unhappy art! decreed thine owner's curse;
Vile diagnostic of consumptive purse;
Still shall thy fatal force my soul perplex,
And every friend, and every brother vex!
Each fond companion!—No, I thank my God.
There rests my torment—there is hung the rod.
To friend, to fame, to family unknown,
Sour disappointments frown on me alone.
Who hates my song, and damns the poor design,
Shall wound no peace—shall grieve no heart but mine!
Vile diagnostic of consumptive purse;
Still shall thy fatal force my soul perplex,
And every friend, and every brother vex!
Each fond companion!—No, I thank my God.
There rests my torment—there is hung the rod.
To friend, to fame, to family unknown,
Sour disappointments frown on me alone.
Who hates my song, and damns the poor design,
Shall wound no peace—shall grieve no heart but mine!
“Pardon, sweet Prince! the thoughts that will intrude,
For want is absent, and dejection rude.
Methinks I hear, amid the shouts of Fame,
Each jolly victor hail my Henry's name;
And, Heaven forbid that, in that jovial day,
One British bard should grieve when all are gay.
No! let him find his country has redress,
And bid adieu to every fond distress;
Or, touch'd too near, from joyful scenes retire,
Scorn to complain, and with one sigh expire!”
For want is absent, and dejection rude.
60
Each jolly victor hail my Henry's name;
And, Heaven forbid that, in that jovial day,
One British bard should grieve when all are gay.
No! let him find his country has redress,
And bid adieu to every fond distress;
Or, touch'd too near, from joyful scenes retire,
Scorn to complain, and with one sigh expire!”
75
[“Like some poor bark on the rough ocean tost]
“Like some poor bark on the rough ocean tost,My rudder broken, and my compass lost,
My sails the coarsest, and too thin to last,
Pelted by rains, and bare to many a blast,
My anchor, Hope, scarce fix'd enough to stay
Where the strong current Grief sweeps all away,
76
Where quicksands lie and frowning rocks appear.
Life's ocean teems with foes to my frail bark,
The rapid sword-fish, and the rav'ning shark,
Where torpid things crawl forth in splendid shell,
And knaves and fools and sycophants live well.
What have I left in such tempestuous sea?
No Tritons shield, no Naiads shelter me!
A gloomy Muse, in Mira's absence, hears
My plaintive prayer, and sheds consoling tears—
Some fairer prospect, though at distance, brings,
Soothes me with song, and flatters as she sings.”
77
“To the Right Honourable the Earl of Shelburne.
“Ah! Shelburne, blest with all that's good or great,T'adorn a rich, or save a sinking state,
If public Ills engross not all thy care,
Let private Woe assail a patriot's ear,
Pity confined, but not less warm, impart,
And unresisted win thy noble heart:
Nor deem I rob thy soul of Britain's share,
Because I hope to have some interest there;
Still wilt thou shine on all a fostering sun,
Though with more fav'ring beams enlight'ning one,—
As Heaven will oft make some more amply blest,
Yet still in general bounty feeds the rest.
Oh hear the Virtue thou reverest plead;
She'll swell thy breast, and there applaud the deed.
She bids thy thoughts one hour from greatness stray,
And leads thee on to fame a shorter way;
Where, if no withering laurel's thy reward,
There's shouting Conscience, and a grateful Bard;
A bard untrained in all but misery's school,
Who never bribed a knave or praised a fool;—
'Tis Glory prompts, and as thou read'st attend,
She dictates pity, and becomes my friend;
She bids each cold and dull reflection flee,
And yields her Shelburne to distress and me!—
79
“An Epistle to a Friend.
“Why, true, thou say'st the fools at Court denied,
Growl vengeance,—and then take the other side:
The unfed flatterer borrows satire's power,
As sweets unshelter'd run to vapid sour.
But thou, the counsel to my closest thought,
Beheld'st it ne'er in fulsome stanzas wrought.
The Muse I court ne'er fawn'd on venal souls,
Whom suppliants angle, and poor praise controls;
She, yet unskill'd in all but fancy's dream,
Sang to the woods, and Mira was her theme.
But when she sees a titled nothing stand
The ready cipher of a trembling land,—
Not of that simple kind that placed alone
Are useless, harmless things, and threaten none,—
But those which, join'd to figures, well express
A strengthen'd tribe that amplify distress,
Grow in proportion to their number great,
And help each other in the ranks of state;—
When this and more the pensive Muses see,
They leave the vales and willing nymphs to thee;
To Court on wings of agile anger speed,
And paint to freedom's sons each guileful deed.
Hence rascals teach the virtues they detest,
And fright base action from sin's wavering breast;
For though the knave may scorn the Muse's arts
Her sting may haply pierce more timid hearts.
Some, though they wish it, are not steel'd enough,
Nor is each would-be villain conscience-proof.
Growl vengeance,—and then take the other side:
80
As sweets unshelter'd run to vapid sour.
But thou, the counsel to my closest thought,
Beheld'st it ne'er in fulsome stanzas wrought.
The Muse I court ne'er fawn'd on venal souls,
Whom suppliants angle, and poor praise controls;
She, yet unskill'd in all but fancy's dream,
Sang to the woods, and Mira was her theme.
But when she sees a titled nothing stand
The ready cipher of a trembling land,—
Not of that simple kind that placed alone
Are useless, harmless things, and threaten none,—
But those which, join'd to figures, well express
A strengthen'd tribe that amplify distress,
Grow in proportion to their number great,
And help each other in the ranks of state;—
When this and more the pensive Muses see,
They leave the vales and willing nymphs to thee;
To Court on wings of agile anger speed,
And paint to freedom's sons each guileful deed.
Hence rascals teach the virtues they detest,
And fright base action from sin's wavering breast;
For though the knave may scorn the Muse's arts
Her sting may haply pierce more timid hearts.
Some, though they wish it, are not steel'd enough,
Nor is each would-be villain conscience-proof.
And what, my friend, is left my song besides?
No school-day wealth that roll'd in silver tides,
No dreams of hope that won my early will,
Nor love, that pain'd in temporary thrill;
No gold to deck my pleasure-scorn'd abode,
No friend to whisper peace,—to give me food;—
Poor to the World I'd yet not live in vain,
But show its lords their hearts, and my disdain
No school-day wealth that roll'd in silver tides,
No dreams of hope that won my early will,
Nor love, that pain'd in temporary thrill;
No gold to deck my pleasure-scorn'd abode,
No friend to whisper peace,—to give me food;—
Poor to the World I'd yet not live in vain,
But show its lords their hearts, and my disdain
“Yet shall not Satire all my song engage
In indiscriminate and idle rage;
True praise, where Virtue prompts, shall gild each line,
And long—if Vanity deceives not—shine.
For though in harsher strains, the strains of woe,
And unadorn'd, my heart-felt murmurs flow,
Yet time shall be when this thine humbled friend
Shall to more lofty heights his notes extend.
A Man—for other title were too poor—
Such as 't were almost virtue to adore,
He shall the ill that loads my heart exhale,
As the sun vapours from the dew-press'd vale;
Himself uninjuring shall new warmth infuse,
And call to blossom every want-nipp'd Muse.
Then shall my grateful strains his ear rejoice,
His name harmonious thrill'd on Mira's voice;
Round the reviving bays new sweets shall spring,
And Shelburne's fame through laughing valleys ring.”
In indiscriminate and idle rage;
81
And long—if Vanity deceives not—shine.
For though in harsher strains, the strains of woe,
And unadorn'd, my heart-felt murmurs flow,
Yet time shall be when this thine humbled friend
Shall to more lofty heights his notes extend.
A Man—for other title were too poor—
Such as 't were almost virtue to adore,
He shall the ill that loads my heart exhale,
As the sun vapours from the dew-press'd vale;
Himself uninjuring shall new warmth infuse,
And call to blossom every want-nipp'd Muse.
Then shall my grateful strains his ear rejoice,
His name harmonious thrill'd on Mira's voice;
Round the reviving bays new sweets shall spring,
And Shelburne's fame through laughing valleys ring.”
213
[CHAPTER IX.]
[1814–1819]
[“Yes, I behold again the place]
“Yes, I behold again the place,
The seat of joy, the source of pain;
It brings in view the form and face
That I must never see again.
The seat of joy, the source of pain;
It brings in view the form and face
That I must never see again.
214
“The night-bird's song that sweetly floats
On this soft gloom—this balmy air,
Brings to the mind her sweeter notes
That I again must never hear.
On this soft gloom—this balmy air,
Brings to the mind her sweeter notes
That I again must never hear.
“Lo! yonder shines that window's light,
My guide, my token, heretofore;
And now again it shines as bright,
When those dear eyes can shine no more.
My guide, my token, heretofore;
And now again it shines as bright,
When those dear eyes can shine no more.
“Then hurry from this place away!
It gives not now the bliss it gave;
For Death has made its charm his prey,
And joy is buried in her grave.”
It gives not now the bliss it gave;
For Death has made its charm his prey,
And joy is buried in her grave.”
[“The ring so worn, as you behold]
“The ring so worn, as you behold,So thin, so pale, is yet of gold:
The passion such it was to prove;
Worn with life's cares, love yet was love.”
224
[CHAPTER X.]
[1823–1832.]
[“Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty]
“Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty;For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors to my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility
Therefore, my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty but kindly.”
225
[“Unhappy is the wretch who feels]
I.
“Unhappy is the wretch who feels
The trembling lover's ardent flame,
And yet the treacherous hope conceals
By using Friendship's colder name.
The trembling lover's ardent flame,
And yet the treacherous hope conceals
By using Friendship's colder name.
“He must the lover's pangs endure,
And still the outward sign suppress;
Nor may expect the smiles that cure
The wounded heart's conceal'd distress.
And still the outward sign suppress;
Nor may expect the smiles that cure
The wounded heart's conceal'd distress.
“When her soft looks on others bend,
By him discern'd, to him denied,
He must be then the silent friend,
And all his jealous torments hide.
By him discern'd, to him denied,
He must be then the silent friend,
And all his jealous torments hide.
“When she shall one blest youth select,
His bleeding heart must still approve;
Must every angry thought correct,
And strive to like, where she can love.
His bleeding heart must still approve;
Must every angry thought correct,
And strive to like, where she can love.
“Heaven from my heart such pangs remove,
And let these feverish sufferings cease—
These pains without the hope of love,
These cares of friendship, not its peace.
And let these feverish sufferings cease—
These pains without the hope of love,
These cares of friendship, not its peace.
II.
“And wilt thou never smile again;
Thy cruel purpose never shaken?
Hast thou no feeling for my pain,
Refused, disdain'd, despised; forsaken?
Thy cruel purpose never shaken?
Hast thou no feeling for my pain,
Refused, disdain'd, despised; forsaken?
226
“Thy uncle crafty, careful, cold,
His wealth upon my mind imprinted;
His fields described, and praised his fold,
And jested, boasted, promised, hinted.
His wealth upon my mind imprinted;
His fields described, and praised his fold,
And jested, boasted, promised, hinted.
“Thy aunt—I scorn'd the omen—spoke
Of lovers by thy scorn rejected;
But I the warning never took
When chosen, cheer'd, received, respected.
Of lovers by thy scorn rejected;
But I the warning never took
When chosen, cheer'd, received, respected.
“Thy brother, too—but all was plann'd
To murder peace—all freely granted;
And then I lived in fairy land,
Transported, bless'd, enrapt, enchanted.
To murder peace—all freely granted;
And then I lived in fairy land,
Transported, bless'd, enrapt, enchanted.
“Oh, what a dream of happy love!
From which the wise in time awaken;
While I must all its anguish prove,
Deceived, despised, abused, forsaken!’
From which the wise in time awaken;
While I must all its anguish prove,
Deceived, despised, abused, forsaken!’
[END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.]
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |