Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 18. ELLEN, by GEORGE CRABBE


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TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 18. ELLEN, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Bleak was the morn - said richard with a sigh
Last Line: Or, o! My brother, what a fate is mine!'


BLEAK was the morn -- said Richard, with a sigh,
'I must depart!' -- 'That, Brother, I deny,'
Said George -- 'You may; but I perceive not why.'
This point before had been discuss'd, but still
The guest submitted to the ruling will;
But every day gave rise to doubt and fear, --
He heard not now, as he was wont to hear,
That all was well! -- though little was express'd,
It seem'd to him the writer was distress'd;
Restrain'd! there was attempt and strife to please,
Pains and endeavour -- not Matilda's ease; --
Not the pure lines of love! the guileless friend
In all her freedom -- What could this portend?
'Fancy!' said George, 'the self-tormentor's pain' --
And Richard still consented to remain.
'Ride you this fair cool morning?' said the squire:
Do -- for a purchase I have made inquire,
And with you take a will complacently t' admire:
Southward at first, dear Richard, make your way,
Cross Hilton Bridge, move on through Breken Clay,
At Dunham Wood turn duly to the east,
And there your eyes upon the ocean feast;
Then ride above the cliff, or ride below,
You'll be enraptured, for your taste I know;
It is a prospect that a man might stay
To his bride hastening on his wedding-day;
At Tilburn Sluice once more ascend and view
A decent house; an ample garden too,
And planted well behind -- a lively scene, and new;
A little taste, a little pomp display'd,
By a dull man, who had retired from trade
To enjoy his leisure -- Here he came prepared
To farm, nor cost in preparation spared;
But many works he purchased, some he read,
And often rose with projects in his head,
Of crops in courses raised, of herds by matching bred.
'We had just found these little humours out,
Just saw -- he saw not -- what he was about;
Just met as neighbours, still disposed to meet,
Just learn'd the current tales of Dowling Street,
And were just thinking of our female friends,
Saying -- "You know not what the man intends,
A rich, kind, hearty" -- and it might be true
Something he wish'd, but had not time to do;
A cold ere yet the falling leaf! of small
Effect till then, was fatal in the fall;
And of that house was his possession brief --
Go; and guard well against the falling leaf.
'But hear me, Richard, looking to my ease,
Try if you can find something that will please;
Faults if you see, and such as must abide,
Say they are small, or say that I can hide;
But faults that I can change, remove, or mend,
These like a foe detect -- or like a friend.
'Mark well the rooms, and their proportions learn,
In each some use, some elegance discern;
Observe the garden, its productive wall,
And find a something to commend in all;
Then should you praise them in a knowing way,
I'll take it kindly -- that is well -- be gay.
'Nor pass the pebbled cottage as you rise
Above the sluice, till you have fix'd your eyes
On the low woodbined window, and have seen,
So fortune favour you, the ghost within;
Take but one look, and then your way pursue,
It flies all stranges, and it knows not you.'
Richard return'd, and by his Brother stood,
Not in a pensive, not in pleasant mood;
But by strong feeling into stillness wrought,
As nothing thinking, or with too much thought;
Or like a man who means indeed to speak,
But would his hearer should his purpose seek.
When George -- 'What is it, Brother, you would hide?
Or what confess?' -- 'Who is she?' he replied,
'That angel whom I saw, to whom is she allied?
Of this fair being let me understand,
And I will praise your purchase, house and land.
'Hers was that cottage on the rising ground,
West of the waves, and just beyond their sound;
'Tis larger than the rest, and whence, indeed,
You might expect a lady to proceed;
But O! this creature, far as I could trace,
Will soon be carried to another place.
'Fair, fragile thing! I said, when first my eye
Caught hers, wilt thou expand thy wings and fly?
Or wilt thou vanish? beauteous spirit -- stay!
For will it not (I question'd) melt away?
No! it was mortal -- I unseen was near,
And saw the bosom's sigh, the standing tear!
She thought profoundly, for I stay'd to look,
And first she read, then laid aside her book;
Then on her hand reclined her lovely head,
And seem'd unconscious of the tear she shed.
'"Art thou so much," I said, "to grief a prey?"
Till pity pain'd me, and I rode away.
'Tell me, my Brother, is that sorrow dread
For the great change that bears her to the dead?
Has she connexions? does she love? -- I feel
Pity and grief, wilt thou her woes reveal?'
'They are not lasting, Richard, they are woes
Chastised and meek! she sings them to repose;
If not, she reasons; if they still remain,
She finds resource, that none shall find in vain.
'Whether disease first grew upon regret,
Or nature gave it, is uncertain yet,
And must remain; the frame was slightly made,
That grief assail'd, and all is now decay'd!
'But though so willing from the world to part,
I must not call her case a broken heart;
Nor dare I take upon me to maintain
That hearts once broken never heal again.'

'She was an only daughter, one whose sire
Loved not that girls to knowledge should aspire;
But he had sons, and Ellen quickly caught
Whatever they were by their masters taught;
This, when the father saw -- "It is the turn
Of her strange mind," said he, "but let her learn;
'Tis almost pity with that shape and face --
But is a fashion, and brings no disgrace;
Women of old wrote verse, or for the stage
Brought forth their works! they now are reasoners sage,
And with severe pursuits dare grapple and engage.
If such her mind, I shall in vain oppose,
If not, her labours of themselves will close."
'Ellen, 'twas found, had skill without pretence,
And silenced envy by her meek good sense;
That Ellen learnt, her various knowledge proved;
Soft words and tender looks, that Ellen loved;
For he who taught her brothers found in her
A constant, ready, eager auditor;
This he perceived, nor could his joy disguise,
It tuned his voice, it sparkled in his eyes.
'Not very young, nor very handsome he,
But very fit an Abelard to be;
His manner and his meekness hush'd alarm
In all but Ellen -- Ellen felt the charm;
Hers was fond "filial love," she found delight
To have her mind's dear father in her sight;
'But soon the borrow'd notion she resign'd!
He was no father -- even to the mind.
'But Ellen had her comforts -- "He will speak,"
She said, "for he beholds me fond and weak;
Fond, and he therefore may securely plead, --
Weak, I have therefore of his firmness need;
With whom my father will his Ellen trust,
Because he knows him to be kind and just."
'Alas! too well the conscious lover knew
The parent's mind, and well the daughter's too;
He felt of duty the imperious call,
Beheld his danger, and must fly or fall.
What would the parent, what his pupils think?
O! he was standing on perdition's brink:
In his dilemma flight alone remain'd,
And could he fly whose very soul was chain'd?
He knew she loved; she tried not to conceal
A hope she thought that virtue's self might feel.
'Ever of her and her frank heart afraid,
Doubting himself, he sought in absence, aid,
And had resolved on flight, but still the act delay'd;
At last so high his apprehension rose,
That he would both his love and labour close.
'"While undisclosed my fear each instant grows,
And I lament the guilt that no one knows,
Success undoes me, and the view that cheers
All other men, all dark to me appears!"
'Thus as he thought, his Ellen at his side
Her soothing softness to his grief applied;
With like effect as water cast on flame,
For he more heated and confused became,
And broke in sorrow from the wondering maid,
Who was at once offended and afraid;
Yet "Do not go!" she cried, and was awhile obey'd.
'"Art thou then ill, dear friend?" she ask'd, and took
His passive hand -- "How very pale thy look!
And thou art cold, and tremblest -- pray thee tell
Thy friend, thy Ellen, is her master well?
And let her with her loving care attend
To all that vexes and disturbs her friend."
'"Nay, my dear lady! we have all our cares,
And I am troubled with my poor affairs:
Thou canst not aid me, Ellen; could it be
And might it, doubtless, I would fly to thee;
But we have sundry duties, and must all,
Hard as it may be, go where duties call --
Suppose the trial were this instant thine,
Could thou the happiest of thy views resign
At duty's strong command?" -- "If thou wert by,"
Said the unconscious maiden, "I would try!" --
And as she sigh'd she heard the soft responsive sigh.
'And then assuming steadiness, "Adieu!"
He cried, and from the grieving Ellen flew;
And to her father with a bleeding heart
He went, his grief and purpose to impart;
Told of his health, and did in part confess
That he should love the noble maiden less.
'The parent's pride to sudden rage gave way --
"And the girl loves! that plainly you would say --
And you with honour, in your pride, retire! --
Sir, I your prudence envy and admire."
But here the father saw the rising frown,
And quickly let his lofty spirit down.
'"Forgive a parent! -- I may well excuse
A girl who could perceive such worth and choose
To make it hers; we must not look to meet
All we might wish; -- Is age itself discreet?
Where conquest may not be, 'tis prudence to retreat."
'Then with the kindness worldly minds assume
He praised the self-pronounced and rigorous doom;
He wonder'd not that one so young should love,
And much he wish'd he could the choice approve;
Much he lamented such a mind to lose,
And begg'd to learn if he could aid his views,
If such were form'd -- then closed the short account,
And to a shilling paid the full amount.
'So Cecil left the mansion, and so flew
To foreign shores, without an interview;
He must not say, I love -- he could not say, Adieu!
'Long was he absent; as a guide to youth,
With grief contending, and in search of truth,
In courting peace, and trying to forget
What was so deeply interesting yet.
'A friend in England gave him all the news,
A sad indulgence that he would not lose;
He told how Ellen suffer'd, how they sent
The maid from home in sullen discontent,
With some relation on the Lakes to live,
In all the sorrow such retirements give;
And there she roved among the rocks, and took
Moss from the stone, and pebbles from the brook;
Gazed on the flies that settled on the flowers,
And so consumed her melancholy hours.
'Again he wrote -- The father then was dead,
And Ellen to her native village fled,
With native feeling -- there she oped her door,
Her heart, her purse, and comforted the poor,
The sick, the sad, -- and there she pass'd her days,
Deserving much, but never seeking praise,
Her task to guide herself, her joy the fallen to raise.
Nor would she nicely faults and merits weigh,
But loved the impulse of her soul t' obey;
The prayers of all she heard, their sufferings view'd,
Nor turn'd from any, save when Love pursued;
For though to love disposed, to kindness prone,
She thought of Cecil, and she lived alone.
'Thus heard the lover of the life she past
Till his return, -- and he return'd at last;
For he had saved, and was a richer man
Than when to teach and study he began;
Something his father left, and he could fly
To the loved country where he wish'd to die.
'"And now," he said, "this maid with gentle mind
May I not hope to meet, as good, as kind,
As in the days when first her friend she knew
And then could trust -- and he indeed is true?
She knew my motives, and she must approve
The man who dared to sacrifice his love
And fondest hopes to virtue: virtuous she,
Nor can resent that sacrifice in me."
'He reason'd thus, but fear'd, and sought the friend
In his own country, where his doubts must end;
They then together to her dwelling came,
And by a servant sent her lover's name,
A modest youth, whom she before had known,
His favourite then, and doubtless then her own.
'They in the carriage heard the servants speak
At Ellen's door -- "A maid so heavenly meek,
Who would all pain extinguish! Yet will she
Pronounce my doom, I feel the certainty!" --
"Courage!" the friend exclaim'd, "the lover's fear
Grows without ground;" but Cecil would not hear:
He seem'd some dreadful object to explore,
And fix'd his fearful eye upon the door,
Intensely longing for reply -- the thing
That must to him his future fortune bring;
And now it brought! like Death's cold hand it came --
"The lady was a stranger to the name!"
'Backward the lover in the carriage fell,
Weak, but not fainting -- "All," said he, "is well!
Return with me -- I have no more to seek!"
And this was all the woful man would speak.
'Quickly he settled all his worldly views,
And sail'd from home, his fiercer pains to lose
And nurse the milder -- now with labour less
He might his solitary world possess,
And taste the bitter-sweet of love in idleness.
'Greece was the land he chose; a mind decay'd
And ruin'd there through glorious ruin stray'd;
There read, and walk'd, and mused, -- there loved, and
wept, and pray'd.
Nor would he write, nor suffer hope to live,
But gave to study all his mind could give;
Till, with the dead conversing, he began
To lose the habits of a living man,
Save that he saw some wretched, them he tried
To soothe, -- some doubtful, them he strove to guide;
Nor did he lose the mind's ennobling joy
Of that new state that death much not destroy;
What Time had done we know not, -- Death was nigh,
To his first hopes the lover gave a sigh,
But hopes more new and strong confirm'd his wish to die.
'Meantime poor Ellen in her cottage thought
"That he would seek her -- sure she should be sought --
She did not mean -- It was an evil hour,
Her thoughts were guardless, and beyond her power;
And for one speech, and that in rashness made!
Have I no friend to soothe him and persuade?
He must not leave me -- He again will come,
And we shall have one hope, one heart, one home!"
'But when she heard that he on foreign ground
Sought his lost peace, hers never more was found;
But still she felt a varying hope that love
Would all these slight impediments remove; --
"Has he no friend to tell him that our pride
Resents a moment and is satisfied?
Soon as the hasty sacrifice is made,
A look will soothe us, and a tear persuade;
Have I no friend to say 'Return again,
Reveal your wishes, and relieve her pain?'"
'With suffering mind the maid her prospects view'd,
That hourly varied with the varying mood;
As past the day, the week, the month, the year,
The faint hope sicken'd, and gave place to fear.
'No Cecil came! -- "Come, peevish and unjust!"
Sad Ellen cried, "why cherish this disgust?
Thy Ellen's voice could charm thee once, but thou
Canst nothing see or hear of Ellen now!"
'Yes! she was right; the grave on him was closed,
And there the lover and the friend reposed.
The news soon reach'd her, and she then replied
In his own manner -- "I am satisfied!"
'To her a lover's legacy is paid,
The darling wealth of the devoted maid;
From this her best and favourite books she buys,
From this are doled the favourite charities;
And when a tale or face affects her heart,
This is the fund that must relief impart.
'Such have the ten last years of Ellen been!
Her very last that sunken eye has seen!
That half angelic being still must fade
Till all the angel in the mind be made; --
And now the closing scene will shortly come --
She cannot visit sorrow at her home;
But still she feeds the hungry, still prepares
The usual softeners of the peasant's cares,
And though she prays not with the dying now,
She teaches them to die, and shows them how.'
'Such is my tale, dear Richard, but that told
I must all comments on the text withhold;
What is the sin of grief I cannot tell,
Nor of the sinners who have loved too well;
But to the cause of mercy I incline,
Or, O! my Brother, what a fate is mine!'





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