Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 22. PREACHING AND PRACTICE, by GEORGE CRABBE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 22. PREACHING AND PRACTICE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: What I have ask'd are questions that relate
Last Line: And thank our god that we can dine in peace.


I

P. WHAT I have ask'd are questions that relate
To those once known, that I might learn their fate.
But there was ONE, whom though I scarcely knew,
Much do I wish to learn his fortunes too.
Yet what expect? -- He was a rich man's Heir,
His conduct doubtful, but his prospects fair;
Thoughtless and brave, extravagant and gay,
Wild as the wind, and open as the day;
His freaks and follies were a thousand times
Brought full in view: I heard not of his crimes.
Like our Prince Hal, his company he chose
Among the lawless, of restraint the foes;
But though to their poor pleasures he could stoop,
He was not, rumour said, their victim-dupe.
His mother's Sister was a maiden prim,
Pious and poor, and much in debt to him.
This she repaid with volumes of reproof,
And sage advice, till he would cry 'Enough!'
His father's Brother no such hints allow'd,
Peevish and rich, and insolent and proud,
Of stern, strong spirit: Him the Youth withstood,
At length, 'Presume not (said he) on our blood;
Treat with politeness him whom you advise,
Nor think I fear your doting prophecies;'
And fame has told of many an angry word,
When anger this, and that contempt had stirr'd.
'Boy! thou wilt beg thy bread, I plainly see.' --
'Upbraid not, Uncle! till I beg of thee.'
'Oh! thou wilt run to ruin and disgrace.' --
'What! and so kind an Uncle in the place?'
'Nay, for I hold thee stranger to my blood.'
'Then must I treat thee as a stranger would:
For if you throw the tie of blood aside,
You must the roughness of your speech abide.'
'What! to your father's Brother do you give
A challenge? -- Mercy! in what times we live!'
Now, I confess, the youth who could supply
Thus that poor Spinster, and could thus defy
This wealthy Uncle; -- who could mix with them
Whom his strong sense and feeling must condemn,
And in their follies his amusement find,
Yet never lose the vigour of his mind --
A youth like this, with much we must reprove,
Had something still to win esteem and love.
Perhaps he lives not; but he seem'd not made
To pass through life entirely in the shade.
F. Suppose you saw him, -- does your mind retain
So much, that you would know the man again?
Yet hold in mind, he may have felt the press
Of grief or guilt, the withering of distress;
He now may show the stamp of woe and pain,
And nothing of his lively cast remain.
Survey these features -- see if nothing there
May old impressions on your mind repair!
Is there not something in this shattered frame
Like to that --
P. No! not like it, but the same;
That eye so brilliant, and that smile so gay,
Are lighted up, and sparkle through decay.
But may I question? Will you that allow?
There was a difference, and there must be now;
And yet, permitted, I would gladly hear
What must have pass'd in many a troubled year.

F. Then hear my tale; but I the price demand;
That understood, I too must understand
Thy wanderings through, or sufferings in the land;
And, if our virtues cannot much produce,
Perhaps our errors may be found of use.
To all the wealth my Father's care laid by,
I added wings, and taught it how to fly.
To him that act had been of grievous sight,
But he survived not to behold the flight.
Strange doth it seem to grave and sober minds;
How the dear vice the simple votary blinds,
So that he goes to ruin smoothly on,
And scarcely feels he's going, till he's gone.
I had made over, in a lucky hour,
Funds for my Aunt, and placed beyond my power;
The rest was flown, I speak it with remorse,
And now a pistol seem'd a thing in course.
But though its precepts I had not obey'd,
Thoughts of my Bible made me much afraid
Of such rebellion, and though not content,
I must live on when life's supports were spent;
Nay, I must eat, and of my frugal Aunt
Must grateful take what gracious she would grant;
And true, she granted, but with much discourse;
Oh! with what words did she her sense enforce!
Great was her wonder, in my need that I
Should on the prop myself had raised rely --
I, who provided for her in my care,
'Must be assured how little she could spare!'
I stood confounded, and with angry tone,
With rage and grief, that blended oath and groan,
I fled her presence -- yet I saw her air
Of resignation, and I heard her prayer;
'Now Heaven,' she utter'd, 'make his burden light!' --
And I, in parting, cried, 'Thou hypocrite!'
But I was wrong -- she might have meant to pray;
Though not to give her soul -- her cash -- away.
Of course, my Uncle would the spendthrift shun;
So friends on earth I now could reckon none.
One morn I rambled, thinking of the past,
Far in the country -- Did you ever fast
Through a long summer's day? or, sturdy, go
To pluck the crab, the bramble, and the sloe,
The hyp, the cornel, and the beech, the food
And the wild solace of the gypsy brood?
To pick the cress embrown'd by summer sun,
From the dry bed where streams no longer run?
Have you, like school-boy, mingling play and toil,
Dug for the ground-nut, and enjoy'd the spoil?
Or chafed with feverish hand the ripening wheat,
Resolved to fast, and yet compelled to eat?
Say, did you this, and drink the crystal spring,
And think yourself an abdicated king,
Driv'n from your state by a rebellious race?
And in your pride contending with disgrace,
Could you your hunger in your anger lose,
And call the ills you bear the ways you choose?
Thus on myself depending, I began
To feel the pride of a neglected man;
Not yet correct, but still I could command
Unshaken nerves, and a determined hand.
'Lo! men at work!' I said, 'and I a man
Can work! I feel it is my pride, I can.'
This said, I wander'd on, and join'd the poor,
Assumed a labourer's dress, and was no more
Than labour made -- Upon the road I broke
Stones for my bread, and startled at the stroke;
But every day the labour seem'd more light,
And sounder, sweeter still the sleep of every night.
'Thus will I live,' I cried, 'nor more return
To herd with men, whose love and hate I spurn.
All creatures toil; the beast, if tamed or free,
Must toil for daily sustenance like me;
The feather'd people hunt as well as sing,
And catch their flying food upon the wing.
The fish, the insect, all who live, employ
Their powers to keep on life, or to enjoy,
Their life th' enjoyment; thus will I proceed,
A man from man's detested favours freed.'
Thus was I reasoning, when at length there came
A gift, a present, but without a name.
'That Spinster-witch, has she then found a way
To cure her conscience, and her Nephew pay,
And sends her pittance? Well, and let it buy
What sweetens labour; need I this deny?
I thank her not; it is as if I found
The fairy-gift upon this stony ground.'
Still I wrought on; again occurred the day,
And then the same addition to my pay.
Then, lo! another Friend, if not the same,
For that I knew not, with a message came --
'Canst keep accounts?' the man was pleased to ask --
'I could not cash! -- but that the harder task.'
'Yet try,' he said; and I was quickly brought,
To Lawyer Snell, and in his office taught.
Not much my pay, but my desires were less,
And I for evil days reserved th' excess.
Such day occurr'd not: quickly came there one,
When I was told my present work was done:
My Friend then brought me to a building large,
And gave far weightier business to my charge.
There I was told I had accounts to keep,
Of those vast Works, where wonders never sleep,
Where spindles, bobbins, rovings, threads, and pins,
Made up the complex mass that ever spins.
There, at my desk, in my six feet of room,
I noted every power of every loom;
Sounds of all kinds I heard from mortal lungs --
Eternal battle of unwearied tongues,
The jar of men and women, girls and boys,
And the huge Babel's own dull whirring, grinding noise.
My care was mark'd, and I had soon in charge
Important matters, and my pay was large.
I at my fortune marvell'd; it was strange,
And so the outward and the inward change,
Till to the Power who 'gives and takes away'
I turn'd in praise, and taught my soul to pray.
Another came! 'I come,' he said, 'to show,
Your unknown Friend -- have you a wish to know?'
Much I desired, and forth we rode, and found
My Uncle dying, but his judgment sound.
The good old man, whom I abused, had been
The guardian power, directing but unseen;
And thus the wild but grateful boy he led
To take new motives at his dying bed.
The rest you judge -- I now have all I need --
And now the tale you promised! -- Come, proceed.

P. 'Tis due, I own, but yet in mercy spare:
Alas! no Uncle was my guide -- my care
Was all my own; no guardian took a share.
I, like Columbus, for a world unknown --
'Twas no great effort -- sacrificed my own --
My own sad world, where I had never seen
The earth productive, or the sky serene.
But this is past -- and I at length am come
To see what changes have been wrought at home;
Happy in this, that I can set me down
At worst a stranger in my native town.
F. Then be it so! but mean you not to show
How time has pass'd? for we expect to know:
And if you tell not, know you we shall trace
Your movements for ourselves from place to place.
Your wants, your wishes, all you've sought or seen,
Shall be the food for our remark and spleen.
So, warn'd in time, the real page unfold,
And let the Truth, before the Lie, be told.
P. This might be done; but wonders I have none,
All my adventures are of Self alone.
F. What then? I grant you, if your way was clear,
All smooth and right -- we've no desire to hear;
But if you've lewd and wicked things to tell,
Low passions, cruel deeds, nay crimes -- 'tis well:
Who would not listen? -- --
P. Hark! I hear the bell.
It calls to dinner with inviting sound,
For now we know where dinners may be found,
And can behold and share the glad repast,
Without a dread that we behold our last.
F. Come then, shy friend, let doleful subjects cease,
And thank our God that we can dine in peace.





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