The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son. In eight volumes |
 | I. |
| I. | [CHAPTER I.]
|
 | II. |
| III. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| II. |
| III, IV, V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII. |
 | [CHAPTER I.]
The Poetical Works of the Rev. George 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.
| [CHAPTER I.]
The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | |