Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 4. RACHEL, by GEORGE CRABBE


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POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 4. RACHEL, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: It chanced we walk'd upon the heath, and met
Last Line: Sea, ships, and sailors' miseries are her dreams.'


IT chanced we walk'd upon the heath, and met
A wandering woman; her thin clothing wet
With morning fog; the little care she took
Of things like these was written in her look.
Not pain from pinching cold was in her face,
But hurrying grief, that knows no resting place, --
Appearing ever as on business sent,
The wandering victim of a fix'd intent;
Yet in her fancied consequence and speed,
Impell'd to beg assistance for her need.
When she beheld my friend and me, with eye
And pleading hand, she sought our charity;
More to engage our friendly thoughts the while,
She threw upon her miseries a smile,
That, like a varnish on a picture laid,
More prominent and bold the figures made;
Yet was there sign of joy that we complied,
The moment's wish indulged and gratified.
'Where art thou wandering, Rachel? whither stray,
From thy poor heath in such unwholesome day?'
Ask'd my kind friend, who had familiar grown
With Rachel's grief, and oft compassion shown;
Oft to her hovel had in winter sent
The means of comfort -- oft with comforts went.
Him well she knew, and with requests pursued,
Though too much lost and spent for gratitude.
'Where art thou wandering, Rachel? let me hear?' --
'The fleet! the fleet!' she answer'd, 'will appear
Within the bay, and I shall surely know
The news to-night! -- turn tide, and breezes blow!
For if I lose my time, I must remain
Till the next year before they come again!'
'What can they tell thee, Rachel?' --
'Should I say,
I must repent me to my dying day.
Then I should lose the pension that they give;
For who would trust their secrets to a sieve?
I must be gone!' -- And with her wild, but keen
And crafty look, that would appear to mean,
She hurried on; but turn'd again to say,
'All will be known: they anchor in the bay;
Adieu! be secret! -- sailors have no home:
Blow wind, turn tide! -- Be sure the fleet will come.'
Grown wilder still, the frantic creature strode
With hurried feet upon the flinty road.
On her departing form I gazed with pain --
'And should you not,' I cried, 'her ways restrain?
What hopes the wild deluded wretch to meet?
And means she aught by this expected fleet?
Knows she her purpose? has she hope to see
Some friend to aid her in her poverty?
Why leave her thus bewilder'd to pursue
The fancy's good, that never comes in view?' --
'Nay! she is harmless, and if more confined,
Would more distress in the coercion find.
Save at the times when to the coast she flies,
She rests, nor shows her mind's obliquities,
But ever talks she of the sea, and shows
Her sympathy with every wind that blows.
We think it, therefore, useless to restrain
A creature of whose conduct none complain,
Whose age and looks protect her, -- should they fail,
Her craft and wild demeanour will prevail.
A soldier once attack'd her on her way --
She spared him not, but bade him kneel and pray --
Praying herself aloud -- th' astonish'd man
Was so confounded, that away he ran.
'Her sailor left her, with, perhaps, intent
To make her his -- 'tis doubtful what he meant:
But he was captured, and the life he led
Drove all such young engagements from his head.
On him she ever thought, and none beside,
Seeking her love, were favour'd or denied;
On her dear David she had fix'd her view,
And fancy judged him ever fond and true.
Nay, young and handsome -- Time could not destroy --
No -- he was still the same -- her gallant boy!
Labour had made her coarse, and her attire
Show'd that she wanted no one to admire;
None to commend her; but she could conceive
The same of him, as when he took his leave,
And gaily told what riches he would bring,
And grace her hand with the symbolic ring.
'With want and labour was her mind subdued;
She lived in sorrow and in solitude.
Religious neighbours, kindly calling, found
Her thoughts unsettled, anxious, and unsound;
Low, superstitious, querulous, and weak,
She sought for rest, but knew not how to seek;
And their instructions, though in kindness meant,
Were far from yielding the desired content.
They hoped to give her notions of their own,
And talk'd of "feelings" she had never known;
They ask'd of her "experience," and they bred,
In her weak mind, a melancholy dread
Of something wanting in her faith, of some --
She knew not what -- "acceptance," that should come;
And as it came not, she was much afraid
That she in vain had served her God and pray'd.
'She thought her Lover dead. In prayer she named
The erring Youth, and hoped he was reclaim'd.
This she confess'd; and trembling, heard them say,
"Her prayers were sinful -- So the papists pray.
Her David's fate had been decided long,
And prayers and wishes for his state were wrong."
'Had these her guides united love and skill,
They might have ruled and rectified her will;
But they perceived not the bewilder'd mind,
And show'd her paths, that she could never find:
The weakness that was Nature's, they reproved,
And all its comforts from the Heart removed.
'Ev'n in this state, she loved the winds that sweep
O'er the wild heath, and curl the restless deep
A turf-built hut beneath a hill she chose,
And oft at night in winter storms arose,
Hearing, or dreaming, the distracted cry
Of drowning seamen on the breakers by:
For there were rocks, that when the tides were low
Appear'd, and vanish'd when the waters flow;
And there she stood, all patient to behold
Some seaman's body on the billows roll'd.
'One calm, cold evening, when the moon was high,
And rode sublime within the cloudless sky,
She sat within her hut, nor seem'd to feel
Or cold or want, but turn'd her idle wheel,
And with sad song its melancholy tone
Mix'd, all unconscious that she dwelt alone.
'But none will harm her -- Or who, willing, can?
She is too wretched to have fear of man --
Not man! but something -- if it should appear,
That once was man -- that something did she fear.
'No causeless terror! -- In that moon's clear light
It came, and seem'd a parley to invite;
It was no hollow voice -- no brushing by
Of a strange being, who escapes the eye --
No cold or thrilling touch, that will but last
While we can think, and then for ever past.
But this sad face -- though not the same, she knew
Enough the same, to prove the vision true --
Look'd full upon her! -- starting in affright
She fled, her wildness doubling at the sight;
With shrieks of terror, and emotion strong,
She pass'd it by, and madly rush'd along
To the bare rocks -- While David, who, that day,
Had left his ship at anchor in the bay,
Had seen his friends who yet survived, and heard
Of her who loved him -- and who thus appear'd --
He tried to soothe her, but retired afraid
T' approach, and left her to return for aid.
'None came! and Rachel in the morn was found
Turning her wheel, without its spindles, round,
With household look of care, low singing to the sound.
'Since that event, she is what you have seen,
But time and habit make her more serene,
The edge of anguish blunted -- yet, it seems,
Sea, ships, and sailors' miseries are her dreams.'





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