Miscellaneous Poems

Miscellaneous Poems

Transcribed by Mark Sherwood, e-mail: mark.sherwood@btinternet.com MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Contents Sir Eustace Grey The Hall of Justice Woman The Birth of Flattery Reflections SIR EUSTACE GREY. Scene: - A MADHOUSE. Persons: - VISITOR, PHYSICIAN, AND PATIENT. Veris miscens falsa. SENECA. ------------------- VISITOR. Ill know no more; - the heart is torn By views of woe we cannot heal; Long shall I see these things forlorn, And oft again their griefs shall feel, As each upon the mind shall steal; That wan projectors mystic style, That lumpish idiot leering by, That peevish idlers ceaseless wile, And that poor maidens half-formd smile, While struggling for the full-drawn sigh! - Ill know no more. PHYSICIAN. Yes, turn again; Then speed to happier scenes thy way, When thou hast viewd, what yet remain, The ruins of Sir Eustace Grey, The sport of madness, miserys prey: But he will no historian need, His cares, his crimes, will he display, And show (as one from frenzy freed) The proud lost mind, the rash-done deed. That cell to him is Greyling Hall: - Approach; hell bid thee welcome there; Will sometimes for his servant call, And sometimes point the vacant chair: He can, with free and easy air, Appear attentive and polite; Can veil his woes in manners fair, And pity with respect excite. PATIENT. Who comes? - Approach! - tis kindly done: - My learnd physician, and a friend, Their pleasures quit, to visit one Who cannot to their ease attend, Nor joys bestow, nor comforts lend, As when I lived so blest, so well, And dreamt not I must soon contend With those malignant powers of hell. PHYSICIAN. Less warmth, Sir Eustace, or we go. PATIENT. See! I am calm as infant love, A very child, but one of woe, Whom you should pity, not reprove: - But men at ease, who never strove With passions wild, will calmly show How soon we may their ills remove, And masters of their madness grow. Some twenty years, I think, are gone, - (Time flies I know not how, away,) The sun upon no happier shone, Nor prouder man, than Eustace Grey. Ask where you would, and all would say, The man admired and praised of all, By rich and poor, by grave and gay, Was the young lord of Greyling Hall. Yes! I had youth and rosy health; Was nobly formd, as man might be; For sickness, then, of all my wealth, I never gave a single fee: The ladies fair, the maidens free, Were all accustomd then to say, Who would a handsome figure see Should look upon Sir Eustace Grey. He had a frank and pleasant look, A cheerful eye and accent bland; His very speech and manner spoke The generous heart, the open hand; About him all was gay or grand, He had the praise of great and small; He bought, improved, projected, plannd, And reignd a prince at Greyling Hall. My lady! - she was all we love; All praise (to speak her worth) is faint; Her manners showd the yielding dove, Her morals, the seraphic saint: She never breathd nor lookd complaint; No equal upon earth had she - Now, what is this fair thing I paint? Alas! as all that live shall be. There was, beside, a gallant youth, And him my bosoms friend I had; - Oh! I was rich in very truth, It made me proud - it made me mad! - Yes, I was lost - but there was cause! - Where stood my tale? - I cannot find - But I had all mankinds applause, And all the smiles of womankind. There were two cherub-things beside, A gracious girl, a glorious boy; Yet more to swell my full-blown pride, To varnish higher my fading joy, Pleasures were ours without alloy, Nay, Paradise, - till my frail Eve Our bliss was tempted to destroy - Deceived and fated to deceive. But I deserved; - for all that time, When I was loved, admired, caressd,. There was within, each secret crime, Unfelt, uncancelld, unconfessd: I never then my God addressd, In grateful praise or humble prayer; And if His Word was not my jest - (Dread thought!) it never was my care. I doubted: - fool I was to doubt! If that all-piercing eye could see, - If He who looks all worlds throughout, Would so minute and careful be As to perceive and punish me: - With man I would be great and high, But with my God so lost, that He, In His large view should pass me by. Thus blest with children, friend, and wife, Blest far beyond the vulgar lot; Of all that gladdens human life, Where was the good that I had not? But my vile heart had sinful spot, And Heaven beheld its deepning stain; Eternal justice I forgot, And mercy sought not to obtain. Come near, - Ill softly speak the rest! - Alas! tis known to all the crowd, Her guilty love was all confessd; And his, who so much truth avowd, My faithless friends. - In pleasure proud I sat, when these cursed tidings came; Their guilt, their flight was told aloud, And Envy smiled to hear my shame! I calld on Vengeance; at the word She came: - Can I the deed forget? I held the sword - the accursed sword The blood of his false heart made wet; And that fair victim paid her debt, She pined, she died, she loathd to live; - I saw her dying - see her yet: Fair fallen thing! my rage forgive! Those cherubs still, my life to bless, Were left; could I my fears remove, Sad fears that checkd each fond caress, And poisond all parental love? Yet that with jealous feelings strove, And would at last have won my will, Had I not, wretch! been doomd to prove Th extremes of mortal good and ill. In youth! health! joy! in beautys pride! They droopd - as flowers when blighted bow; The dire infection came: - they died, And I was cursed - as I am now; - Nay, frown not, angry friend, - allow That I was deeply, sorely tried; Hear then, and you must wonder how I could such storms and strifes abide. Storms! - not that clouds embattled make, When they afflict this earthly globe; But such as with their terrors shake Mans breast, and to the bottom probe; They make the hypocrite disrobe, They try us all, if false or true; For this one Devil had power on Job; And I was long the slave of two. PHYSICIAN. Peace, peace, my friend; these subjects fly; Collect thy thoughts - go calmly on. - PATIENT. And shall I then the fact deny? I was - thou knowst - I was begone, Like him who filld the eastern throne, To whom the Watcher cried aloud; That royal wretch of Babylon, Who was so guilty and so proud. Like him, with haughty, stubborn mind, I, in my state, my comforts sought; Delight and praise I hoped to find, In what I builded, planted! bought! Oh! arrogance! by misery taught - Soon came a voice! I felt it come; Full be his cup, with evil fraught, Demons his guides, and death his doom! Then was I cast from out my state; Two fiends of darkness led my way; They waked me early, watchd me late, My dread by night, my plague by day! Oh! I was made their sport, their play, Through many a stormy troubled year; And how they used their passive prey Is sad to tell: - but you shall hear. And first before they sent me forth. Through this unpitying world to run, They robbd Sir Eustace of his worth, Lands, manors, lordships, every one; So was that gracious man undone, Was spurnd as vile, was scornd as poor, Whom every former friend would shun, And menials drove from every door. Then rose ill-favourd Ones, whom none But my unhappy eyes could view, Led me, with wild emotion, on, And, with resistless terror, drew. Through lands we fled, oer seas we flew, And halted on a boundless plain; Where nothing fed, nor breathed, nor grew, But silence ruled the still domain. Upon that boundless plain, below, The setting suns last rays were shed, And gave a mild and sober glow, Where all were still, asleep, or dead; Vast ruins in the midst were spread, Pillars and pediments sublime, Where the gray mass had formd a bed, And clothed the crumbling spoils of time. There was I fixd, I know not how, Condemnd for untold years to stay: Yet years were not; - one dreadful Now Endured no change of night or day; The same mild evenings sleeping ray Shone softly solemn and serene, And all that time I gazed away, The setting suns sad rays were seen. At length a moments sleep stole on, - Again came my commissiond foes; Again through sea and land were gone, No peace, no respite, no repose; Above the dark broad sea we rose, We ran through bleak and frozen land; I had no strength their strength toppose, An infant in a giants hand. They placed me where those streamers play, Those nimble beams of brilliant light; It would the stoutest heart dismay, To see, to feel, that dreadful sight: So swift, so pure, so cold, so bright, They pierced my frame with icy wound; And all that half-years polar night, Those dancing streamers wrappd me round. Slowly that darkness passd away, When down upon the earth I fell, - Some hurried sleep was mine by day; But soon as tolld the evening bell, They forced me on, where ever dwell Far-distant men, in cities fair, Cities of whom no travellers tell, Nor feet but mine were wanderers there. Their watchmen stare, and stand aghast, As on we hurry through the dark; The watch-light blinks as we go past, The watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark; The watch-towers bell sounds shrill; and, hark The free wind blows - weve left the town - A wild sepulchral ground I mark, And on a tombstone place me down. What monuments of mighty dead! What tombs of various kinds are found! And stones erect their shadows shed On humble graves, with wickers bound, Some risen fresh, above the ground, Some level with the native clay: What sleeping millions wait the sound, Arise, ye dead, and come away! Alas! they stay not for that call; Spare me this woe! ye demons, spare! They come! the shrouded shadows all, - Tis more than mortal brain can bear; Rustling they rise, they sternly glare At man upheld by vital breath; Who, led by wicked fiends, should dare To join the shadowy troops of death! Yes, I have felt all man can feel, Till he shall pay his natures debt; Ills that no hope has strength to heal, No mind the comfort to forget: Whatever cares the heart can fret, The spirits wear, the temper gall, Woe, want, dread, anguish, all beset My sinful soul! - together all! Those fiends upon a shaking fen Fixd me, in dark tempestuous night; There never trod the foot of men, There flockd the fowl in wintry flight; There danced the moors deceitful light Above the pool where sedges grow; And when the morning-sun shone bright, It shone upon a field of snow. They hung me on a bow so small, The rook could build her nest no higher; They fixd me on the trembling ball That crowns the steeples quivring spire; They set me where the seas retire, But drown with their returning tide; And made me flee the mountains fire, When rolling from its burning side. Ive hung upon the ridgy steep Of cliffs, and held the rambling brier; Ive plunged below the billowy deep, Where air was sent me to respire; Ive been where hungry wolves retire; And (to complete my woes) Ive ran Where Bedlams crazy crew conspire Against the life of reasoning man. Ive furld in storms the flapping sail, By hanging from the topmast-head; Ive served the vilest slaves in jail, And pickd the dunghills spoil for bread; Ive made the badgers hole my bed: Ive wanderd with a gipsy crew; Ive dreaded all the guilty dread, And done what they would fear to do. On sand, where ebbs and flows the flood, Midway they placed and bade me die; Proppd on my staff, I stoutly stood When the swift waves came rolling by; And high they rose, and still more high, Till my lips drank the bitter brine; I sobbd convulsed, then cast mine eye, And saw the tides re-flowing sign. And then, my dreams were such as nought Could yield but my unhappy case; Ive been of thousand devils caught, And thrust into that horrid place Where reign dismay, despair, disgrace; Furies with iron fangs were there, To torture that accursed race Doomd to dismay, disgrace, despair. Harmless I was; yet hunted down For treasons, to my soul unfit; Ive been pursued through many a town, For crimes that petty knaves commit; Ive been adjudged thave lost my wit, Because I preached so loud and well; And thrown into the dungeons pit, For trampling on the pit of hell. Such were the evils, man of sin, That I was fated to sustain; And add to all, without - within, A soul defiled with every stain That mans reflecting mind can pain; That pride, wrong, rage, despair, can make; In fact, theyd nearly touchd my brain, And reason on her throne would shake. But pity will the vilest seek, If punishd guilt will not repine, - I heard a heavenly teacher speak, And felt the SUN OF MERCY shine: I hailed the light! the birth divine! And then was seald among the few; Those angry fiends beheld the sign, And from me in an instant flew. Come hear how thus the charmers cry To wandering sheep, the strays of sin, While some the wicket-gate pass by, And some will knock and enter in: Full joyful tis a soul to win, For he that winneth souls is wise; Now hark! the holy strains begin, And thus the sainted preacher cries: - {1} Pilgrim, burthend with thy sin, Come the way to Zions gate, There, till Mercy let thee in, Knock and weep and watch and wait. Knock! - He knows the sinners cry! Weep! - He loves the mourners tears: Watch! - for saving grace is nigh: Wait, - till heavenly light appears. Hark! it is the Bridegrooms voice: Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; Now within the gate rejoice, Safe and seald and bought and blest! Safe - from all the lures of vice, Seald - by signs the chosen know, Bought - by love and life the price, Blest - the mighty debt to owe. Holy Pilgrim! what for thee In a world like this remain? From thy guarded breast shall flee Fear and shame, and doubt and pain. Fear - the hope of Heaven shall fly, Shame - from glorys view retire, Doubt - in certain rapture die, Pain - in endless bliss expire. But though my day of grace was come, Yet still my days of grief I find; The former clouds collected gloom Still sadden the reflecting mind; The soul, to evil things consignd, Will of their evil some retain; The man will seem to earth inclined, And will not look erect again. Thus, though elect, I feel it hard To lose what I possessd before, To be from all my wealth debarrd, - The brave Sir Eustace is no more: But old I wax, and passing poor, Stern, rugged men my conduct view; They chide my wish, they bar my door, Tis hard - I weep - you see I do. - Must you, my friends, no longer stay? Thus quickly all my pleasures end; But Ill remember when I pray, My kind physician and his friend; And those sad hours, you deign to spend With me, I shall requite them all; Sir Eustace for his friends shall send, And thank their love at Greyling Hall. VISITOR. The poor Sir Eustace! - Yet his hope Leads him to think of joys again; And when his earthly visions droop, His views of heavenly kind remain: But whence that meek and humbled strain, That spirit wounded, lost, resignd? Would not so proud a soul disdain The madness of the poorest mind? PHYSICIAN. No! for the more he swelld with pride, The more he felt misfortunes blow; Disgrace and grief he could not hide, And poverty had laid him low: Thus shame and sorrow working slow, At length this humble spirit gave; Madness on these began to grow, And bound him to his fiends a slave. Though the wild thoughts had touchd his brain, Then was he free: - So, forth he ran; To soothe or threat, alike were vain: He spake of fiends; lookd wild and wan; Year after year, the hurried man Obeyd those fiends from place to place; Till his religious change began To form a frenzied child of grace. For, as the fury lost its strength, The mind reposed; by slow degrees Came lingering hope, and brought at length, To the tormented spirit, ease: This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize, Felt or believed their power had end: - Tis faith, he cried, my bosom frees, And now my SAVIOUR is my friend. But ah! though time can yield relief, And soften woes it cannot cure; Would we not suffer pain and grief, To have our reason sound and sure? Then let us keep our bosoms pure, Our fancys favourite flights suppress; Prepare the body to endure, And bend the mind to meet distress; And then HIS guardian care implore, Whom demons dread and men adore. THE HALL OF JUSTICE, IN TWO PARTS. PART I. Confiteor facere hoc annos; sed et altera causa est, Anxietas animi, continuusque dolor. OVID. ------------------- MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABLE, &c. VAGRANT. Take, take away thy barbarous hand, And let me to thy Master speak; Remit awhile the harsh command, And hear me, or my heart will break. MAGISTRATE. Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin? Thy crime is proved, thou knowst thy fate; But come, thy tale! - begin, begin! - VAGRANT. My crime! - This sickning child to feed. I seized the food, your witness saw; I knew your laws forbade the deed, But yielded to a stronger law. Knowst thou, to Natures great command All human laws are frail and weak? Nay! frown not - stay his eager hand, And hear me, or my heart will break. In this, th adopted babe I hold With anxious fondness to my breast, My hearts sole comfort I behold, More dear than life, when life was blest; I saw her pining, fainting, cold, I beggd - but vain was my request. I saw the tempting food, and seized - My infant-sufferer found relief; And in the pilferd treasure pleased, Smiled on my guilt, and hushd my grief. But I have griefs of other kind, Troubles and sorrows more severe; Give me to ease my tortured mind, Lend to my woes a patient ear; And let me - if I may not find A friend to help - find one to hear. Yet nameless let me plead - my name Would only wake the cry of scorn; A child of sin, conceived in shame, Brought forth in woe, to misery born. My mother dead, my father lost, I wanderd with a vagrant crew; A common care, a common cost; Their sorrows and their sins I knew; With them, by want on error forced, Like them, I base and guilty grew. Few are my years, not so my crimes; The age which these sad looks declare, Is Sorrows work, it is not Times, And I am old in shame and care. Taught to believe the world a place Where every stranger was a foe, Traind in the arts that mark our race, To what new people could I go? Could I a better life embrace, Or live as virtue dictates? No! - So through the land I wandering went, And little found of grief or joy; But lost my bosoms sweet content When first I loved the Gipsy-Boy. A sturdy youth he was and tall, His looks would all his soul declare; His piercing eyes were deep and small, And strongly curld his raven-hair. Yes, AARON had each manly charm, All in the May of youthful pride, He scarcely feard his fathers arm, And every other arm defied. - Oft, when they grew in anger warm, (Whom will not love and power divide?) I rose, their wrathful souls to calm, Not yet in sinful combat tried. His father was our partys chief, And dark and dreadful was his look; His presence filld my heart with grief, Although to me he kindly spoke. With Aaron I delighted went, His favour was my bliss and pride; In growing hope our days we spent, Loves growing charms in either spied; It saw them all which Nature lent, It lent them all which she denied. Could I the fathers kindness prize, Or grateful looks on him bestow, Whom I beheld in wrath arise, When Aaron sunk beneath his blow? He drove him down with wicked hand, It was a dreadful sight to see; Then vexd him, till he left the land, And told his cruel love to me; The clan were all at his command, Whatever his command might be. The night was dark, the lanes were deep, And one by one they took their way; He bade me lay me down and sleep, I only wept and wishd for day. Accursed be the love he bore, Accursed was the force he used, So let him of his God implore For mercy, and be so refused! You frown again, - to show my wrong Can I in gentle language speak? My woes are deep, my words are strong, - And hear me, or my heart will break. MAGISTRATE. I hear thy words, I feel thy pain; Forbear awhile to speak thy woes; Receive our aid, and then again The story of thy life disclose. For, though seduced and led astray, Thoust travelld far and wanderd long; Thy God hath seen thee all the way, And all the turns that led thee wrong. PART II. Quondam ridentes oculi, nunc fonte perenni Deplorant poenas nocte dieque suas. CORNEILLE. --------------- MAGISTRATE. Come, now again thy woes impart, Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin; We cannot heal the throbbing heart Till we discern the wounds within. Compunction weeps our guilt away, The sinners safety is his pain; Such pangs for our offences pay, And these severer griefs are gain. VAGRANT. The son came back - he found us wed, Then dreadful was the oath he swore; His way through Blackburn Forest led, - His father we beheld no more. Of all our daring clan not one Would on the doubtful subject dwell; For all esteemd the injured son, And feard the tale which he could tell. But I had mightier cause for fear, For slow and mournful round my bed I saw a dreadful form appear, - It came when I and Aaron wed. Yes! we were wed, I know my crime, - We slept beneath the elmin tree; But I was grieving all the time, And Aaron frownd my tears to see. For he not yet had felt the pain That rankles in a wounded breast; He waked to sin, then slept again, Forsook his God, yet took his rest. But I was forced to feign delight, And joy in mirth and music sought, - And memry now recalls the night, With such surprise and horror fraught, That reason felt a moments flight, And left a mind to madness wrought. When waking, on my heaving breast I felt a hand as cold as death: A sudden fear my voice suppressd, A chilling terror stoppd my breath. I seemd - no words can utter how! For there my father-husband stood, And thus he said: - Will God allow, The great Avenger just and Good, A wife to break her marriage vow? A son to shed his fathers blood? I trembled at the dismal sounds, But vainly strove a word to say; So, pointing to his bleeding wounds, The threatning spectre stalkd away. I brought a lovely daughter forth, His fathers child, in Aarons bed; He took her from me in his wrath, Where is my child? - Thy child is dead. Twas false - we wanderd far and wide, Through town and country, field and fen, Till Aaron, fighting, fell and died, And I became a wife again. I then was young: - my husband sold My fancied charms for wicked price; He gave me oft for sinful gold, The slave, but not the friend of vice: - Behold me, Heaven! my pains behold, And let them for my sins suffice. The wretch who lent me thus for gain, Despised me when my youth was fled; Then came disease, and brought me pain: - Come, Death, and bear me to the dead! For though I grieve, my grief is vain, And fruitless all the tears I shed. True, I was not to virtue traind, Yet well I knew my deeds were ill; By each offence my heart was paind I wept, but I offended still; My better thoughts my life disdaind, But yet the viler led my will. My husband died, and now no more My smile was sought, or askd my hand, A widowd vagrant, vile and poor, Beneath a vagrants vile command. Ceaseless I roved the country round, To win my bread by fraudful arts, And long a poor subsistence found, By spreading nets for simple hearts. Though poor, and abject, and despised, Their fortunes to the crowd I told; I gave the young the love they prized, And promised wealth to bless the old. Schemes for the doubtful I devised, And charms for the forsaken sold. At length for arts like these confined In prison with a lawless crew, I soon perceived a kindred mind, And there my long-lost daughter knew; His fathers child, whom Aaron gave To wander with a distant clan, The miseries of the world to brave, And be the slave of vice and man. She knew my name - we met in pain; Our parting pangs can I express? She saild a convict oer the main, And left an heir to her distress. This is that heir to shame and pain, For whom I only could descry A world of trouble and disdain: Yet, could I bear to see her die, Or stretch her feeble hands in vain, And, weeping, beg of me supply? No! though the fate thy mother knew Was shameful! shameful though thy race Have wanderd all a lawless crew, Outcasts despised in every place; Yet as the dark and muddy tide, When far from its polluted source, Becomes more pure and purified, Flows in a clear and happy course; In thee, dear infant! so may end Our shame, in thee our sorrows cease, And thy pure course will then extend, In floods of joy, oer vales of peace. Oh! by the GOD who loves to spare, Deny me not the boon I crave; Let this loved child your mercy share, And let me find a peaceful grave: Make her yet spotless soul your care, And let my sins their portion have; Her for a better fate prepare, And punish whom twere sin to save! MAGISTRATE. Recall the word, renounce the thought, Command thy heart and bend thy knee; There is to all a pardon brought, A ransom rich, assured and free; Tis full when found, tis found if sought, Oh! seek it, till tis seald to thee. VAGRANT. But how my pardon shall I know? MAGISTRATE. By feeling dread that tis not sent, By tears for sin that freely flow, By grief, that all thy tears are spent, By thoughts on that great debt we owe, With all the mercy God has lent, By suffering what thou canst not show, Yet showing how thine heart is rent, Till thou canst feel thy bosom glow, And say, MY SAVIOUR, I REPENT! 1807 WOMAN! To a Woman I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. If I was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, they did not hesitate, like Men, to perform a generous action: in so free and kind a manner did they contribute to my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the sweetest draught, and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel with a double relish. Mr Ledyard, as quoted by Mungo Park in his travels into Africa. ---------------- Place the white man on Africs coast, Whose swarthy sons in blood delight, Who of their scorn to Europe boast, And paint their very demons white: There, while the sterner sex disdains To soothe the woes they cannot feel, Woman will strive to heal his pains, And weep for those she cannot heal: Hers is warm pitys sacred glow; From all her stores she bears a part, And bids the spring of hope re-flow, That languishd in the fainting heart. What though so pale his haggard face, So sunk and sad his looks, - she cries; And far unlike our nobler race, With crisped locks and rolling eyes; Yet misery marks him of our kind; We see him lost, alone, afraid; And pangs of body, griefs in mind, Pronounce him man, and ask our aid. Perhaps in some far-distant shore There are who in these forms delight; Whose milky features please them more, Than ours of jet thus burnished bright; Of such may be his weeping wife, Such children for their sire may call, And if we spare his ebbing life, Our kindness may preserve them all. Thus her compassion Woman shows: Beneath the line her acts are these; Nor the wide waste of Lapland-snows Can her warm flow of pity freeze: - From some sad land the stranger comes, Where joys like ours are never found; Lets soothe him in our happy homes, Where freedom sits, with plenty crownd. Tis good the fainting soul to cheer, To see the famishd stranger fed; To milk for him the mother-deer, To smooth for him the furry bed. The powers above our Lapland bless With good no other people know; Tenlarge the joys that we possess, By feeling those that we bestow! Thus in extremes of cold and heat, Where wandering man may trace his kind; Wherever grief and want retreat, In Woman they compassion find; She makes the female breast her seat, And dictates mercy to the mind. Man may the sterner virtues know, Determined justice, truth severe; But female hearts with pity glow, And Woman holds affliction dear; For guiltless woes her sorrows flow, And suffering vice compels her tear; Tis hers to soothe the ills below, And bid lifes fairer views appear: To Womans gentle kind we owe What comforts and delights us here; They its gay hopes on youth bestow, And care they soothe, and age they cheer. 1807 THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY. Omnia habeo, nec quicquam habeo; Quidquid, dicunt, laudo; id rursum si negant, laudo id quoque; Negat quis, nego; ait, aio; Postremo imperavi egomet mihi Omnia assentari. TERENCE, in Eunuch. Tis an old maxim in the schools, That flattery is the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to taste a bit. SWIFT. ------------------------------ The Subiect - Poverty and Cunning described - When united, a jarring Couple - Mutual reproof - the Wife consoled by a Dream - Birth of a Daughter - Description and Prediction of Envy - How to be rendered ineffectual, explained in a Vision - Simulation foretells the future Success and Triumphs of Flattery - Her power over various Characters and Different Minds; over certain Classes of Men; over Envy himself - Her successful Art of softening the Evils of Life; of changing Characters; of meliorating Prospects and affixing Value to Possessions, Pictures, &c. Conclusion. Muse of my Spenser, who so well could sing The passions all, their bearings and their ties; Who could in view those shadowy beings bring, And with bold hand remove each dark disguise, Wherein love, hatred, scorn, or anger lies: Guide him to Fairy-land, who now intends That way his flight; assist him as he flies, To mark those passions, Virtues foes and friends, By whom when led she droops, when leading she ascends. Yes! they appear, I see the fairy train! And who that modest nymph of meek address? Not vanity, though loved by all the vain; Not Hope, though promising to all success; Not Mirth, nor Joy, though foe to all distress; Thee, sprightly syren, from this train I choose, Thy birth relate, thy soothing arts confess; Tis not in thy mild nature to refuse, When poets ask thine aid, so oft their meed and muse. --------------------- In Fairy-land, on wide and cheerless plain, Dwelt, in the house of Care a sturdy swain; A hireling he, who, when he tilld the soil, Lookd to the pittance that repaid his toil, And to a master left the mingled joy And anxious care that followd his employ. Sullen and patient he at once appeard, As one who murmurd, yet as one who feard; Thattire was coarse that clothed his sinewy frame, Rude his address, and Poverty his name. In that same plain a nymph, of curious taste, A cottage (plannd, with all her skill) had placed; Strange the materials, and for what designd The various parts, no simple man might find; What seemd the door, each entering guest withstood, What seemd a window was but painted wood; But by a secret spring the wall would move, And daylight drop through glassy door above: Twas all her pride, new traps for praise to lay, And all her wisdom was to hide her way; In small attempts incessant were her pains, And Cunning was her name among the swains. Now, whether fate decreed this pair should wed, And blindly drove them to the marriage bed; Or whether love in some soft hour inclined The damsels heart, and won her to be kind, Is yet unsung: they were an ill-matchd pair, But both disposed to wed - and wed they were. Yet, though united in their fortune, still Their ways were diverse; varying was their will; Nor long the maid had blessd the simple man, Before dissensions rose, and she began: - Wretch that I am! since to thy fortune bound, What plan, what project, with success is crownd? I, who a thousand secret arts possess, Who every rank approach with right address; Whove loosed a guinea from a misers chest, And wormd his secret from a traitors breast; Thence gifts and gains collecting, great and small, Have brought to thee, and thou consumst them all; For want like thine - a bog without a base - Ingulfs all gains I gather for the place; Feeding, unfilld; destroying, undestroyd; It craves for ever, and is ever void: - Wretch that I am! what misery have I found, Since my sure craft was to thy calling bound! Oh! vaunt of worthless art, the swain replied, Scowling contempt, ho ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 5209
Author: Crabbe, George
Release Date: Mar 1, 2004
Format: eBook
Language: English