Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 17. DANVERS AND RAYNER, by GEORGE CRABBE


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POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 17. DANVERS AND RAYNER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The purest friendship, like the finest ware
Last Line: A tottering cabin with a tattered race.


I

THE purest Friendship, like the finest ware,
Deserves our praises, but demands our care.
For admiration we the things produce,
But they are not design'd for common use;
Flaws the most trifling from their virtue take,
And lamentation for their loss we make:
While common Friendships, like the wares of clay,
Are a cheap kind, but useful every day:
Though crack'd and damaged, still we make them do,
And when they're broken, they're forgotten too.
There is within the world in which we dwell
A Friendship, answering to that world full well;
An interchange of looks and actions kind,
And, in some sense, an intercourse of mind;
A useful commerce, a convenient trade,
By which both parties are the happier made;
And, when the thing is rightly understood,
And justly valued, it is wise and good.
I speak not here of Friendships that excite
In boys at school such wonder and delight, --
Of high heroic Friends, in serious strife,
Contending which should yield a forfeit life --
Such wondrous love, in their maturer days,
Men, if they credit, are content to praise.
I speak not here of Friendships true and just,
When friend can friend with life and honour trust;
Where mind to mind has long familiar grown,
And every failing, every virtue known:
Of these I speak not: things so rich and rare,
That we degrade with jewels to compare,
Or bullion pure and massy. -- I intend
To treat of one whose Neighbour called him Friend,
Or called him Neighbour; and with reason good --
The friendship rising from the neighbourhood:
A sober kind, in common service known;
Not such as is in death and peril shown:
Such as will give or ask a helping hand,
But no important sacrifice demand;
In fact, a friendship that will long abide,
If seldom rashly, never strongly, tried.
Yes! these are sober friendships, made for use,
And much convenience they in life produce:
Like a good coat, that keeps us from the cold,
The cloth of frieze is not a cloth of gold;
But neither is it pyebald, pieced, and poor;
'Tis a good useful coat, and nothing more.
Such is the Friendship of the world approved,
And here the Friends so loving and so loved: --
DANVERS and RAYNER, equals, who had made
Each decent fortune, both were yet in trade;
While sons and daughters, with a youthful zeal,
Seem'd the hereditary love to feel:
And ev'n their wives, though either might pretend
To claim some notice, call'd each other friend.
While yet their offspring boys and girls appear'd,
The fathers ask'd, 'What evil could be fear'd?'
Nor is it easy to assign the year,
When cautious parents should begin to fear.
The boys must leave their schools, and, by and by,
The girls are sure to grow reserved and shy;
And then, suppose a real love should rise,
It but unites the equal families.
Love does not always from such freedom spring;
Distrust, perhaps, would sooner cause the thing.
'We will not check it, neither will we force' --
Thus said the fathers -- 'Let it take its course.'
It took its course: -- young Richard Danvers' mind
In Phoebe Rayner found what lovers find --
Sense, beauty, sweetness; all that mortal eyes
Can see, or heart conceive, or thought devise.
And Phoebe's eye, and thought, and heart could trace
In Richard Danvers every manly grace --
All that e'er maiden wish'd, or matron prized --
So well these good young people sympathised.
All their relations, neighbours, and allies,
All their dependants, visitors, and spies,
Such as a wealthy family caress,
Said here was love, and drank to love's success.
'Tis thus I leave the parties, young and old,
Lovers and Friends. Will Love and Friendship hold?
Will Prudence with the children's wish comply,
And Friendship strengthen with that new ally?

II

P. I SEE no more within our borough's bound
The name of DANVERS! Is it to be found?
Were the young pair in Hymen's fetters tied,
Or did succeeding years the Friends divide?
F. Nay! take the story, as by time brought forth,
And of such Love and Friendship judge the worth.
While the lad's love -- his parents call'd it so --
Was going on, as well as love could go,
A wealthy Danvers, in a distant place,
Left a large fortune to this favour'd race.
To that same place the father quickly went,
And Richard only murmur'd weak dissent.
Of Richard's heart the parent truly guess'd: --
'Well, my good lad! then do what suits thee best;
No doubt thy brothers will do all they can
T' obey the orders of the good old man:
Well, I would not thy free-born spirit bind;
Take, Dick, the way to which thou 'rt most inclined.'
No answer gave the youth; nor did he swear
The old man's riches were beneath his care;
Nor that he would with his dear Phoebe stay,
And let his heartless father move away.
No! kind and constant, tender, faithful, fond, --
Thus far he'd go -- but not one step beyond!
Not disobedient to a parent's will --
A lover constant -- but dependent still.
Letters, at first, between the constant swain
And the kind damsel banish'd all their pain:
Both full and quick they were; for lovers write
With vast despatch, and read with vast delight --
So quick they were, -- for Love is never slow, --
So full, they ever seem'd to overflow.
Their hearts are ever fill'd with grief or joy,
And these to paint is every hour's employ:
Joy they would not retain; and for their grief,
To read such letters is a sure relief.
But, in due time, both joy and grief supprest,
They found their comfort in a little rest.
Mails went and came without the accustom'd freight,
For Love grew patient, and content to wait --
Yet was not dead, nor yet afraid to die;
For though he wrote not, Richard wonder'd why.
He could not justly tell how letters pass'd,
But, as to him appear'd, he wrote the last:
In this he meant not to accuse the maid --
Love, in some cases, ceases to upbraid.
Yet not indifferent was our Lover grown,
Although the ardour of the flame was flown;
He still of Phoebe thought, her lip, her smile --
But grew contented with his fate the while.
Thus, not inconstant were the youthful pair --
The Lad remembered still the Lass was fair;
And Phoebe still, with half-affected sigh,
Thought it a pity that such love should die;
And had they then, with this persuasion, met,
Love had rekindled, and been glowing yet.
But times were changed: no mention now was made
By the old Squire, or by the young, of trade.
The worthy Lady, and her children all,
Had due respect -- The People at the Hall.
His Worship now read Burn, and talk'd with skill
About the poor-house, and the turnpike-bill;
Lord of a manor, he had serious claims,
And knew the poaching rascals by their names:
And if the father thus improved his mind,
Be sure the children were not far behind:
To rank and riches what respect was due,
To them and theirs what deference, well they knew;
And, from the greatest to the least, could show
What to the favouring few the favour'd many owe.
The mind of man must have whereon to work,
Or it will rust -- we see it in the Turk;
And Justice Danvers, though he read the news,
And all of law that magistrates peruse, --
Bills about roads and charities, -- yet still
Wanted employ his vacant mind to fill;
These were not like the shipping, once his pride,
Now, with his blue surtout, laid all aside.
No doubt, his spirits in their ebb to raise,
He found some help in men's respect and praise --
Praise of his house, his land, his lawn, his trees --
He cared not what -- to praise him was to please:
Yet though his rural neighbours called to dine,
And some might kindly praise his food and wine,
This was not certain, and another day,
He must the visit and the praise repay.
By better motives urged -- we will suppose --
He thus began his purpose to disclose
To his good lady: -- 'We have lived a year,
And never ask'd our friends the Rayners here:
Do let us ask them -- as for Richard's flame,
It went, we see, as idly as it came --
Invite them kindly -- here's a power of room,
And the poor people will be glad to come.
Outside and in, the coach will hold them all,
And set them down beside the garden wall.'
The Lady wrote, for that was all he meant,
Kind soul! by asking for his wife's assent:
And every Rayner was besought to come
To dine in Hulver Hall's grand dining-room.
About this time old Rayner, who had lost
His Friend's advice, was by misfortune cross'd:
Some debtors fail'd, when large amounts were due,
So large, that he was nearly failing too;
But he, grown wary, that he might not fail,
Brought to in adverse gales, and shorten'd sail:
This done, he rested, and could now attend
The invitation of his distant Friend.
'Well! he would go; but not, indeed, t' admire
The state and grandeur of the new-made Squire;
Danvers, belike, now wealthy, might impart
Some of his gold; for Danvers had a heart,
And may have heard, though guarded so around,
That I have lost the fortune he has found:
Yes! Dick is kind, or he and his fine seat
Might go to -- -- where we never more should meet.'
Now, lo! the Rayners all at Hulver Place, --
Or Hulver Hall -- 'tis not a certain case;
'Tis only known that Ladies' notes were sent
Directed both ways, and they always went.
We pass the greetings, and the dinner pass,
All the male gossip o'er the sparkling glass,
And female when retired: -- The Squire invites
His Friend, by sleep refresh'd, to see his sights --
His land and lions, granary, barns, and crops,
His dairy, piggery, pinery, apples, hops; --
But here a hill appears, and Peter Rayner stops.
'Ah! my old Friend, I give you joy,' he cries:
'But some are born to fall, and some to rise;
You're better many a thousand, I the worse --
Dick, there's no dealing with a failing purse;
Nor does it shame me (mine is all mischance)
To wish some friendly neighbour would advance' --
-- -- But here the guest on such a theme was low.
His host, meantime, intent upon the show,
In hearing heard not -- they came out to see, --
And pushing forward -- 'There's a view,' quoth he;
'Observe that ruin, built, you see, to catch
The gazer's eye; that cottage with the thatch --
It cost me -- guess you what?' -- that sound of cost
Was accidental, but it was not lost.
'Ah! my good Friend, be sure such things as these
Suit well enough a man who lives at ease:
Think what "The Betsy" cost, and think the shock
Of losing her upon the Dodder-Rock:
The tidings reach'd me on the very day
That villain robb'd us, and then ran away.
Loss upon loss! now if -- -- '
'Do stay a bit;'
Exclaim'd the Squire, 'these matters hardly fit
A morning ramble -- let me show you now
My team of oxen, and my patent plough.
Talk of your horses! I the plan condemn --
They eat us up -- but oxen! we eat them;
For first they plough and bring us bread to eat,
And then we fat and kill them -- there's the meat.
What's your opinion?' --
-- 'I am poorly fed,
And much afraid to want both meat and bread,'
Said Rayner, half indignant; and the Squire
Sigh'd, as he felt he must no more require
A man, whose prospects fail'd, his prospects to admire.
Homeward they moved, and met a gentle pair,
The poor man's daughter, and the rich man's heir:
This caused some thought; but on the couple went,
And a soft hour in tender converse spent.
This pair, in fact, their passion roused anew,
Alone much comfort from the visit drew.
At home the Ladies were engaged, and all
Show'd or were shown the wonders of the Hall;
From room to room the weary guests went on,
Till every Rayner wish'd the show was done.
Home they return'd: the Father deeply sigh'd
To find he vainly had for aid applied:
It hurt him much to ask -- and more to be denied.
The younger Richard, who alone sustain'd
The dying Friendship, true to Love remain'd:
His Phoebe's smiles, although he did not yet
Fly to behold, he could not long forget;
Nor durst he visit, nor was love so strong,
That he could more than think his Father wrong;
For, wrong or right, that father still profess'd
The most obedient son should fare the best.
So time pass'd on; the second spring appear'd,
Ere Richard ventured on the deed he fear'd: --
He dared at length; and not so much for love,
I grieve to add, but that he meant to prove
He had a will: -- His father, in reply,
This known, had answer'd, 'So, my son, have I.'
But Richard's courage was by prudence taught,
And he his nymph in secret service sought.
Some days of absence -- not with full consent,
But with slow leave -- were to entreaty lent;
And forth the Lover rode, uncertain what he meant.
He reached the dwelling he had known so long,
When a pert damsel told him, 'he was wrong;
Their house she did not just precisely know,
But he would find it somewhere in the Row;
The Rayners now were come a little down,
Nor more the topmost people in the town;'
She might have added, they their life enjoy'd,
Although on things less hazardous employ'd.
This was not much; but yet the damsel's sneer,
And the Row-dwelling of a lass so dear,
Were somewhat startling. He had heard, indeed,
That Rayner's business did not well succeed:
'But what of that? They lived in decent style,
No doubt, and Phoebe still retain'd her smile;
And why,' he asked, 'should all men choose to dwell
In broad cold streets? -- the Row does just as well,
Quiet and snug;' and then the favourite maid
Rose in his fancy, tastefully array'd,
Looking with grateful joy upon the swain,
Who could his love in trying times retain.
Soothed by such thoughts, to the new house he came,
Surveyed its aspect, sigh'd, and gave his name.
But ere they opened, he had waited long,
And heard a movement -- Was there somewhat wrong?
Nay, but a friendly party, he was told;
And look'd around, as wishing to behold
Some friends -- but these were not the friends of old.
Old Peter Rayner, in his own old mode,
Bade the Squire welcome to his new abode,
For Richard had been kind, and doubtless meant
To make proposals now, and ask consent.
Mamma and misses, too, were civil all;
But what their awkward courtesy to call,
He knew not; neither could he well express
His sad sensations at their strange address.
And then their laughter loud, their story-telling,
All seem'd befitting to that Row and dwelling;
The hearty welcome to the various treat
Was lost on him -- he could nor laugh nor eat.
But one thing pleased him, when he look'd around,
His dearest Phoebe could not there be found:
'Wise and discreet,' he says, 'she shuns the crew
Of vulgar neighbours, some kind act to do;
In some fair house, some female friend to meet,
Or take at evening prayer in church her seat.'
Meantime there rose, amid the ceaseless din,
A mingled scent, that crowded room within,
Rum and red-herring, Cheshire cheese and gin;
Pipes, too, and punch, and sausages, with tea,
Were things that Richard was disturb'd to see.
Impatient now, he left them in disdain,
To call on Phoebe, when he call'd again;
To walk with her, the morning fair and bright,
And lose the painful feelings of the night.
All in the Row, and tripping at the side
Of a young Sailor, he the nymph espied,
As homeward hastening with her happy boy,
She went to join the party, and enjoy.
'Fie!' Phoebe cried, as her companion spoke,
Yet laugh'd to hear the fie-compelling joke; --
Just then her chance to meet, her shame to know,
Her tender Richard, moving sad and slow,
Musing on things full strange, the manners of the Row.
At first amazed, and then alarm'd, the fair
Late-laughing maid now stood in dumb despair:
As when a debtor meets in human shape
The foe of debtors, and cannot escape,
He stands in terror, nor can longer aim
To keep his credit, or preserve his name,
Stood Phoebe fix'd! 'Unlucky time and place!
An earlier hour had kept me from disgrace!'
She thought -- but now the sailor, undismay'd,
Said, 'My dear Phoebe, why are you afraid?
The man seems civil, or he soon should prove
That I can well defend the girl I love.
Are you not mine?' She utter'd no reply: --
'Thine I must be,' she thought; 'more foolish I!'
While Richard at the scene stood mute and wondering by.
His spirits hurried, but his bosom light,
He left his Phoebe with a calm 'good night.'
So Love like Friendship fell! The youth awhile
Dreamt, sorely moved, of Phoebe's witching smile --
But learned in daylight visions to forego,
The Sailor's laughing Lass, the Phoebe of the Row.
Home turn'd young Richard, in due time to turn,
With all old Richard's zeal, the leaves of Burn;
And home turned Phoebe -- in due time to grace
A tottering cabin with a tattered race.





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