Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 8. THE SISTERS, by GEORGE CRABBE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TALES OF THE HALL: BOOK 8. THE SISTERS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The morning shone in cloudless beauty bright
Last Line: "and not a man to meet us there.""'"


THE morning shone in cloudless beauty bright;
Richard his letters read with much delight;
George from his pillow rose in happy tone,
His bosom's lord sat lightly on his throne:
They read the morning news -- they saw the sky
Inviting call'd them, and the earth was dry.
'The day invites us, brother,' said the 'squire;
'Come, and I'll show thee something to admire:
We still may beauty in our prospects trace;
If not, we have them in both mind and face.
''Tis but two miles -- to let such women live
Unseen of him, what reason can I give?
Why should not Richard to the girls be known?
Would I have all their friendship for my own?
Brother, there dwell, yon northern hill below,
Two favourite maidens, whom 'tis good to know;
Young, but experienced; dwellers in a cot,
Where they sustain and dignify their lot,
The best good girls in all our world below --
O! you must know them -- Come! and you shall know.
'But lo! the morning wastes -- here, Jacob, stir --
If Phoebe comes, do you attend to her;
And let not Mary get a chattering press
Of idle girls to hear of her distress:
Ask her to wait till my return -- and hide
From her meek mind your plenty and your pride;
Nor vex a creature, humble, sad, and still,
By your coarse bounty, and your rude goodwill.'
This said, the brothers hasten'd on their way,
With all the foretaste of a pleasant day.
The morning purpose in the mind had fix'd
The leading thought, and that with others mix'd.
'How well it is,' said George, 'when we possess
The strength that bears us up in our distress;
And need not the resources of our pride,
Our fall from greatness and our wants to hide;
But have the spirit and the wish to show,
We know our wants as well as others know.
'Tis true, the rapid turns of fortune's wheel
Make even the virtuous and the humble feel:
They for a time must suffer, and but few
Can bear their sorrows and our pity too.
'Hence all these small expedients, day by day,
Are used to hide the evils they betray:
When, if our pity chances to be seen,
The wounded pride retorts, with anger keen,
And man's insulted grief takes refuge in his spleen.
'When Timon's board contains a single dish,
Timon talks much of market-men and fish,
Forgetful servants, and th' infernal cook,
Who always spoil'd whate'er she undertook.
'But say, it tries us from our height to fall,
Yet is not life itself a trial all?
And not a virtue in the bosom lives,
That gives such ready pay as patience gives;
That pure submission to the ruling mind,
Fix'd, but not forced; obedient, but not blind;
The will of heaven to make her own she tries,
Or makes her own to heaven a sacrifice.
'And is there aught on earth so rich or rare,
Whose pleasures may with virtue's pains compare?
This fruit of patience, this the pure delight,
That 'tis a trial in her Judge's sight;
Her part still striving duty to sustain,
Not spurning pleasure, not defying pain;
Never in triumph till her race be won,
And never fainting till her work be done.'
With thoughts like these they reach'd the village brook,
And saw a lady sitting with her book;
And so engaged she heard not, till the men
Were at her side, nor was she frighten'd then;
But to her friend, the 'squire, his smile return'd,
Through which the latent sadness he discern'd.
The stranger-brother at the cottage door
Was now admitted, and was strange no more:
Then of an absent sister he was told,
Whom they were not at present to behold;
Something was said of nerves, and that disease,
Whose varying powers on mind and body seize,
Enfeebling both! -- Here chose they to remain
One hour in peace, and then return'd again.
'I know not why,' said Richard, 'but I feel
The warmest pity on my bosom steal
For that dear maid! How well her looks express
For this world's good a cherish'd hopelessness!
A resignation that is so entire,
It feels not now the stirrings of desire;
What now to her is all the world esteems?
She is awake, and cares not for its dreams;
But moves while yet on earth, as one above
Its hopes and fears -- its loathing and its love.
'But shall I learn,' said he, 'these sisters' fate?' --
And found his brother willing to relate.

'The girls were orphans early; yet I saw,
When young, their father -- his profession law;
He left them but a competence, a store
That made his daughters neither rich nor poor;
Not rich, compared with some who dwelt around;
Not poor, for want they neither fear'd nor found;
Their guardian uncle was both kind and just,
One whom a parent might in dying trust;
Who, in their youth, the trusted store improved,
And, when he ceased to guide them, fondly loved.
'These sister beauties were in fact the grace
Of yon small town, -- it was their native place;
Like Saul's famed daughters were the lovely twain,
As Micah, Lucy, and as Merab, Jane:
For this was tall, with free commanding air,
And that was mild, and delicate, and fair.
'Jane had an arch delusive smile, that charm'd
And threaten'd too; alluring, it alarm'd;
The smile of Lucy her approval told,
Cheerful, not changing; neither kind nor cold.
'When children, Lucy love alone possess'd,
Jane was more punish'd and was more caress'd;
If told the childish wishes, one bespoke
A lamb, a bird, a garden, and a brook;
The other wish'd a joy unknown, a rout
Or crowded ball, and to be first led out.
'Lucy loved all that grew upon the ground,
And loveliness in all things living found;
The gilded fly, the fern upon the wall,
Were nature's works, and admirable all;
Pleased with indulgence of so cheap a kind,
Its cheapness never discomposed her mind.
'Jane had no liking for such things as these,
Things pleasing her must her superiors please;
The costly flower was precious in her eyes,
That skill can vary, or that money buys;
Her taste was good, but she was still afraid,
Till fashion sanction'd the remarks she made.
'The sisters read, and Jane with some delight,
The satires keen that fear or rage excite,
That men in power attack, and ladies high,
And give broad hints that we may know them by.
She was amused when sent to haunted rooms,
Or some dark passage where the spirit comes
Of one once murder'd! then she laughing read,
And felt at once the folly and the dread:
As rustic girls to crafty gipsies fly,
And trust the liar though they fear the lie,
Or as a patient, urged by grievous pains,
Will fee the daring quack whom he disdains,
So Jane was pleased to see the beckoning hand,
And trust the magic of the Ratcliffe-wand.
'In her religion -- for hermind, though light,
Was not disposed our better views to slight --
Her favourite authors were a solemn kind,
Who fill with dark mysterious thoughts the mind;
And who with such conceits her fancy plied,
Became her friend, philosopher, and guide.
'She made the Progress of the Pilgrim one
To build a thousand pleasant views upon;
All that connects us with a world above
She loved to fancy, and she long'd to prove;
Well would the poet please her, who could lead
Her fancy forth, yet keep untouch'd her creed.
Led by an early custom, Lucy spied,
When she awaked, the Bible at her side;
That, ere she ventured on a world of care,
She might for trials, joys or pains prepare,
For every dart a shield, a guard for every snare.
'She read not much of high heroic deeds,
Where man the measure of man's power exceeds;
But gave to luckless love and fate severe
Her tenderest pity and her softest tear.
'She mix'd not faith with fable, but she trod
Right onward, cautious in the ways of God;
Nor did she dare to launch on seas unknown,
In search of truths by some adventurers shown,
But her own compass used, and kept a course her own.
'The maidens both their loyalty declared,
And in the glory of their country shared;
But Jane that glory felt with proud delight,
When England's foes were vanquish'd in the fight;
While Lucy's feelings for the brave who bled
Put all such glorious triumphs from her head.
They both were frugal; Lucy from the fear
Of wasting that which want esteems so dear,
But finds so scarce, her sister from the pain
That springs from want, when treated with disdain.
'Jane borrow'd maxims from a doubting school,
And took for truth the test of ridicule;
Lucy saw no such virtue in a jest,
Truth was with her of ridicule a test.
'They loved each other with the warmth of youth,
With ardour, candour, tenderness, and truth;
And though their pleasures were not just the same,
Yet both were pleased whenever one became;
Nay, each would rather in the act rejoice,
That was th' adopted, not the native choice.
'Each had a friend, and friends to minds so fond
And good are soon united in the bond;
Each had a lover; but it seem'd that fate
Decreed that these should not approximate.
Now Lucy's lover was a prudent swain,
And thought, in all things, what would be his gain;
The younger sister first engaged his view,
But with her beauty he her spirit knew;
Her face he much admired, "but, put the case,"
Said he, "I marry, what is then a face?
At first it pleases to have drawn the lot;
He then forgets it, but his wife does not;
Jane too," he judged, "would be reserved and nice,
And many lovers had enhanced her price."
'Thus thinking much, but hiding what he thought,
The prudent lover Lucy's favour sought,
And he succeeded, -- she was free from art;
And his appear'd a gentle guileless heart;
Such she respected; true, her sister found
His placid face too ruddy and too round,
Too cold and inexpressive; such a face
Where you could nothing mark'd or manly trace.
'But Lucy found him to his mother kind,
And saw the Christian meekness of his mind;
His voice was soft, his temper mild and sweet,
His mind was easy, and his person neat.
Jane said he wanted courage; Lucy drew
No ill from that, though she believed it too;
"It is religious, Jane, be not severe;"
"Well, Lucy, then it is religious fear."
Nor could the sister, great as was her love,
A man so lifeless and so cool approve.
'Jane had a lover, whom a lady's pride
Might wish to see attending at her side,
Young, handsome, sprightly, and with good address,
Not mark'd for folly, error or excess;
Yet not entirely from their censure free,
Who judge our failings with severity;
The very care he took to keep his name
Stainless, with some was evidence of shame.
'Jane heard of this, and she replied, "Enough;
Prove but the facts, and I resist not proof;
Nor is my heart so easy as to love
The man my judgment bids me not approve."
But yet that heart a secret joy confess'd,
To find no slander on the youth would rest;
His was, in fact, such conduct, that a maid
Might think of marriage, and be not afraid;
And she was pleased to find a spirit high,
Free from all fear, that spurn'd hypocrisy.
'"What fears my sister?" said the partial fair,
For Lucy fear'd, -- "Why tell me to beware?
No smooth deceitful varnish can I find;
His is a spirit generous, free, and kind;
And all his flaws are seen, all floating in his mind.
A little boldness in his speech. What then?
It is the failing of these generous men.
A little vanity, but -- O! my dear,
They all would show it, were they all sincere.
'"But come, agreed; we'll lend each other eyes
To see our favourites, when they wear disguise;
And all those errors that will then be shown
Uninfluenced by the workings of our own."
'Thus lived the sisters, far from power removed,
And far from need, both loving and beloved.
Thus grew, as myrtles grow; I grieve at heart
That I have pain and sorrow to impart.
But so it is, the sweetest herbs that grow
In the lone vale, where sweetest waters flow,
Ere drops the blossom, or appears the fruit,
Feel the vile grub, and perish at the root;
And in a quick and premature decay,
Breathe the pure fragrance of their life away.
'A town was near, in which the buildings all
Were large, but one pre-eminently tall --
An huge high house. Without there was an air
Of lavish cost; no littleness was there;
But room for servants, horses, whiskies, gigs,
And walls for pines and peaches, grapes and figs;
Bright on the sloping glass the sun-beams shone,
And brought the summer of all climates on.
'Here wealth its prowess to the eye display'd,
And here advanced the seasons, there delay'd;
Bid the due heat each growing sweet refine,
Made the sun's light with grosser fire combine,
And to the Tropic gave the vigour of the Line.
'Yet, in the master of this wealth, behold
A light vain coxcomb taken from his gold,
Whose busy brain was weak, whose boasting heart was cold.
'O! how he talk'd to that believing town,
That he would give it riches and renown;
Cause a canal where treasures were to swim,
And they should owe their opulence to him
In fact, of riches he insured a crop,
So they would give him but a seed to drop.
As used the alchymist his boasts to make,
"I give you millions for the mite I take;"
The mite they never could again behold,
The millions all were Eldorado gold.
'By this professing man, the country round
Was search'd to see where money could be found.
'The thriven farmer, who had lived to spare,
Became an object of especial care;
He took the frugal tradesman by the hand,
And wish'd him joy of what he might command;
And the industrious servant, who had laid
His saving by, it was his joy to aid;
Large talk, and hints of some productive plan
Half named, won all his hearers to a man;
Uncertain projects drew them wondering on,
And avarice listen'd till distrust was gone.
But when to these dear girls he found his way,
All easy, artless, innocent were they;
When he compell'd his foolish wife to be
At once so great, so humble, and so free;
Whom others sought, nor always with success!
But they were both her pride and happiness;
And she esteem'd them, but attended still
To the vile purpose of her husband's will;
And when she fix'd his snares about their mind,
Respected those whom she essay'd to blind;
Nay with esteem she some compassion gave
To the fair victims whom she would not save.
'The Banker's wealth and kindness were her themes,
His generous plans, his patriotic schemes;
What he had done for some, a favourite few,
What for his favourites still he meant to do;
Not that he always listen'd -- which was hard --
To her, when speaking of her great regard
For certain friends -- "but you, as I may say,
Are his own choice -- I am not jealous -- nay!"
'Then came the man himself, and came with speed
As just from business of importance freed;
Or just escaping, came with looks of fire,
As if he'd just attain'd his full desire;
As if Prosperity and he for life
Were wed, and he was showing off his wife;
Pleased to display his influence, and to prove
Himself the object of her partial love:
Perhaps with this was join'd the latent fear,
The time would come when he should not be dear.
'Jane laugh'd at all their visits and parade,
And call'd it friendship in an hot-house made;
A style of friendship suited to his taste,
Brought on, and ripen'd, like his grapes, in haste;
She saw the wants that wealth in vain would hide,
And all the tricks and littleness of pride;
On all the wealth would creep the vulgar stain,
And grandeur strove to look itself in vain.
'Lucy perceived -- but she replied, "why heed
Such small defects? -- they're very kind indeed!"
And kind they were, and ready to produce
Their easy friendship, ever fit for use,
Friendship that enters into all affairs,
And daily wants, and daily gets, repairs.
Hence at the cottage of the sisters stood
The Banker's steed -- he was so very good;
Oft through the roads, in weather foul and fair,
Their friend's gay carriage bore the gentle pair;
His grapes and nectarines woo'd the virgins' hand,
His books and roses were at their command;
And costly flowers, -- he took upon him shame
That he could purchase what he could not name.
'Lucy was vex'd to have such favours shown,
And they returning nothing of their own;
Jane smiled, and begg'd her sister to believe --
"We give at least as much as we receive."
'Alas! and more; they gave their ears and eyes,
His splendor oft-times took them by surprise;
And if in Jane appear'd a meaning smile,
She gazed, admired, and paid respect the while;
Would she had rested there! Deluded maid,
She saw not yet the fatal price she paid;
Saw not that wealth, though join'd with folly, grew
In her regard; she smiled, but listen'd too;
Nay, would be grateful, she would trust her all,
Her funded source, -- to him a matter small;
Taken for their sole use, and ever at their call:
To be improved -- he knew not how indeed;
But he had methods -- and they must succeed.
'This was so good, that Jane, in very pride,
To spare him trouble, for a while denied;
And Lucy's prudence, though it was alarm'd,
Was by the splendor of the Banker charm'd;
What was her paltry thousand pounds to him,
Who would expend five thousand on a whim?
And then the portion of his wife was known;
But not that she reserved it for her own.
'Lucy her lover trusted with the fact,
And frankly ask'd, "if he approved the act!"
"It promised well," he said; "he could not tell
How it might end, but sure it promised well;
He had himself a trifle in the Bank,
And should be sore uneasy if it sank."
'Jane from her lover had no wish to hide
Her deed; but was withheld by maiden pride;
To talk so early -- as if one were sure
Of being his; she could not that endure.
But when the sisters were apart, and when
They freely spoke of their affairs and men;
They thought with pleasure of the sum improved,
And so presented to the men they loved.
'Things now proceeded in a quiet train;
No cause appear'd to murmur or complain;
The monied man, his ever-smiling dame,
And their young darlings, in their carriage came;
Jane's sprightly lover smiled their pomp to see,
And ate their grapes, with gratitude and glee,
But with the freedom there was nothing mean,
Humble, or forward, in his freedom seen;
His was the frankness of a mind that shows
It knows itself, nor fears for what it knows:
But Lucy's ever humble friend was awed
By the profusion he could not applaud;
He seem'd indeed reluctant to partake
Of the collation that he could not make;
And this was pleasant in the maiden's view, --
Was modesty -- was moderation too;
Though Jane esteem'd it meanness; and she saw
Fear in that prudence, avarice in that awe.
'But both the lovers now to town are gone,
By business one is call'd, by duty one;
While rumour rises, -- whether false or true
The ladies knew not -- it was known to few --
But fear there was, and on their guardianfriend
They for advice and comfort would depend,
When rose the day; meantime from Belmont-place
Came vile report, predicting quick disgrace.
''Twas told -- the servants, who had met to thank
Their lord for placing money in his Bank --
Their kind free master, who such wages gave,
And then increased whatever they could save,
They who had heard they should their savings lose,
Were weeping, swearing, drinking at the news;
And still the more they drank, the more they wept,
And swore, and rail'd, and threaten'd, till they slept.
'The morning truth confirm'd the evening dread;
The Bank was broken, and the Banker fled;
But left a promise that his friends should have,
To the last shilling -- what his fortunes gave.
'The evil tidings reach'd the sister-pair,
And one like Sorrow look'd, and one Despair;
They from each other turn'd th' afflicting look,
And loth and late the painful silence broke.
'"The odious villain!" Jane in wrath began;
In pity Lucy, "the unhappy man!
When time and reason our affliction heal,
How will the author of our sufferings feel?"
'"And let him feel, my sister, -- let the woes
That he creates be bane to his repose!
Let them be felt in his expiring hour,
When death brings all his dread, and sin its power:
Then let the busy foe of mortals state
The pangs he caused, his own to aggravate!
'"Wretch! when our life was glad, our prospects gay,
With savage hand to sweep them all away!
And he must know it -- know when he beguiled
His easy victims -- how the villain smiled!
'"Oh! my dear Lucy, could I see him crave
The food denied, a beggar and a slave,
To stony hearts he should with tears apply,
And Pity's self withhold the struggling sigh;
Or, if relenting weakness should extend
Th' extorted scrap that justice would not lend,
Let it be poison'd by the curses deep
Of every wretch whom he compels to weep!"
'"Nay, my sweet sister, if you thought such pain
Were his, your pity would awake again;
Your generous heart the wretch's grief would feel,
And you would soothe the pangs you could not heal."
'"Oh! never, never, -- I would still contrive
To keep the slave whom I abhorr'd alive;
His tortured mind with horrid fears to fill,
Disturb his reason, and misguide his will;
Heap coals of fire, to lie like melted lead,
Heavy and hot, on his accursed head;
Not coals that mercy kindles hearts to melt,
But he should feel them hot as fires are felt;
Corroding ever, and through life the same,
Strong self-contempt and ever-burning shame;
Let him so wretched live that he may fly
To desperate thoughts, and be resolved to die --
And then let death such frightful visions give,
That he may dread th' attempt, and beg to live!"
So spake th' indignant maid, when Lucy sigh'd,
And, waiting softer times, no more replied.
'Barlow was then in town; and there he thought
Of bliss to come, and bargains to be bought;
And was returning homeward -- when he found
The Bank was broken, and his venture drown'd.
'"Ah! foolish maid," he cried, "and what wilt thou
Say for thy friends and their excesses now?
All now is brought completely to an end;
What can the spendthrift now afford to spend?
Had my advice been -- true, I gave consent,
The thing was purposed; what could I prevent?
'"Who will her idle taste for flowers supply, --
Who send her grapes and peaches? let her try; --
There's none will give her, and she cannot buy.
'"Yet would she not be grateful if she knew
What to my faith and generous love was due?
Daily to see the man who took her hand,
When she had not a sixpence at command;
Could I be sure that such a quiet mind
Would be for ever grateful, mild, and kind,
I might comply -- but how will Bloomer act,
When he becomes acquainted with the fact?
The loss to him is trifling -- but the fall
From independence, that to her is all;
Now should he marry, 'twill be shame to me
To hold myself from my engagement free;
And should he not, it will be double grace
To stand alone in such a trying case.
'"Come then, my Lucy, to thy faithful heart
And humble love I will my views impart;
Will see the grateful tear that softly steals
Down the fair face and all thy joy reveals;
And when I say it is a blow severe,
Then will I add -- restrain, my love, the tear,
And take this heart, so faithful and so fond,
Still bound to thine; and fear not for that bond."
'He said; and went, with purpose he believed
Of generous nature -- so is man deceived.
'Lucy determined that her lover's eye
Should not distress nor supplication spy;
That in her manner he should nothing find,
To indicate the weakness of her mind.
He saw no eye that wept, no frame that shook,
No fond appeal was made by word or look;
Kindness there was, but join'd with some restraint;
And traces of the late event were faint.
'He look'd for grief deploring, but perceives
No outward token that she longer grieves;
He had expected for his efforts praise,
For he resolved the drooping mind to raise;
She would, he judged, be humble, and afraid
That he might blame her rashness and upbraid;
And lo! he finds her in a quiet state,
Her spirit easy and her air sedate;
As if her loss was not a cause for pain,
As if assured that he would make it gain. --
'Silent awhile, he told the morning news,
And what he judged they might expect to lose;
He thought himself, whatever some might boast,
The composition would be small at most;
Some shabby matter, she would see no more
The tithe of what she held in hand before.
'How did her sister feel? and did she think
Bloomer was honest, and would never shrink?
'"But why that smile? is loss like yours so light
That it can aught like merriment excite?
Well, he is rich, we know, and can afford
To please his fancy, and to keep his word;
To him 'tis nothing; had he now a fear,
He must the meanest of his sex appear;
But the true honour, as I judge the case,
Is, both to feel the evil, and embrace."
'Here Barlow stopp'd, a little vex'd to see
No fear or hope, no dread or ecstasy:
Calmly she spoke -- "Your prospects, sir, and mine
Are not the same, -- their union I decline;
Could I believe the hand for which you strove
Had yet its value, did you truly love,
I had with thanks address'd you, and replied,
Wait till your feelings and my own subside,
Watch your affections, and, if still they live,
What pride denies, my gratitude shall give;
Ev'n then, in yielding, I had first believed
That I conferr'd the favour, not received.
'"You I release -- nay, hear me -- I impart
Joy to your soul, -- I judge not of your heart.
Think'st thou a being, to whom God has lent
A feeling mind, will have her bosom rent
By man's reproaches? Sorrow will be thine,
For all thy pity prompts thee to resign!
Think'st thou that meekness' self would condescend
To take the husband when she scorns the friend?
Forgive the frankness, and rejoice for life,
Thou art not burden'd with so poor a wife.
'"Go! and be happy -- tell, for the applause
Of hearts like thine, we parted, and the cause
Give, as it pleases." With a foolish look
That a dull school-boy fixes on his book
That he resigns, with mingled shame and joy;
So Barlow went, confounded like the boy.
'Jane, while she wept to think her sister's pain
Was thus increased, felt infinite disdain;
Bound as she was, and wedded by the ties
Of love and hope, that care and craft despise;
She could but wonder that a man, whose taste
And zeal for money had a Jew disgraced,
Should love her sister; yet with this surprise,
She felt a little exultation rise;
Hers was a lover who had always held
This man as base, by generous scorn impell'd;
And yet, as one, of whom for Lucy's sake
He would a civil distant notice take.
'Lucy, with sadden'd heart and temper mild,
Bow'd to correction, like an humbled child,
Who feels the parent's kindness, and who knows
Such the correction he, who loves, bestows.
'Attending always, but attending more
When sorrow ask'd his presence, than before,
Tender and ardent, with the kindest air
Came Bloomer, fortune's error to repair;
Words sweetly soothing spoke the happy youth,
With all the tender earnestness of truth.
'There was no doubt of his intention now --
He will his purpose with his love avow:
So judged the maid; yet, waiting, she admired
His still delaying what he most desired;
Till, from her spirit's agitation free,
She might determine when the day should be.
With such facility the partial mind
Can the best motives for its favourites find.
Of this he spake not, but he stay'd beyond
His usual hour; -- attentive still and fond; --
The hand yet firmer to the hand he prest,
And the eye rested where it loved to rest;
Then took he certain freedoms, yet so small
That it was prudish so the things to call;
Things they were not -- "Describe" -- that none can do,
They had been nothing had they not been new;
It was the manner and the look; a maid,
Afraid of such, is foolishly afraid;
For what could she explain? The piercing eye
Of jealous fear could nought amiss descry.
'But some concern now rose; the youth would seek
Jane by herself, and then would nothing speak,
Before not spoken; there was still delay,
Vexatious, wearying, wasting, day by day.
'"He does not surely trifle!" Heaven forbid!
She now should doubly scorn him if he did.
'Ah! more than this, unlucky girl! is thine;
Thou must the fondest views of life resign;
And in the very time resign them too,
When they were brightening on the eager view.
I will be brief, -- nor have I heart to dwell
On crimes they almost share who paint them well.
'There was a moment's softness, and it seem'd
Discretion slept, or so the lover dream'd;
And watching long the now confiding maid,
He thought her guardless, and grew less afraid;
Led to the theme that he had shunn'd before,
He used a language he must use no more --
For if it answers, there is no more need,
And no more trial, should it not succeed.
'Then made he that attempt, in which to fail
Is shameful, -- still more shameful to prevail.
'Then was there lightning in that eye that shed
Its beams upon him, -- and his frenzy fled;
Abject and trembling at her feet he laid,
Despised and scorn'd by the indignant maid,
Whose spirits in their agitation rose,
Him, and her own weak pity, to oppose:
As liquid silver in the tube mounts high,
Then shakes and settles as the storm goes by.
While yet the lover stay'd, the maid was strong,
But when he fled, she droop'd and felt the wrong --
Felt the alarming chill, th' enfeebled breath,
Closed the quick eye, and sank in transient death.
So Lucy found her; and then first that breast
Knew anger's power, and own'd the stranger guest.
'"And is this love? Ungenerous! Has he too
Been mean and abject? Is no being true?"
For Lucy judged that, like her prudent swain,
Bloomer had talk'd of what a man might gain;
She did not think a man on earth was found,
A wounded bosom, while it bleeds, to wound;
Thought not that mortal could be so unjust,
As to deprive affliction of its trust;
Thought not a lover could the hope enjoy,
That must the peace, he should promote, destroy;
Thought not, in fact, that in the world were those,
Who, to their tenderest friends, are worse than foes,
Who win the heart, deprive it of its care,
Then plant remorse and desolation there.
'Ah! cruel he, who can that heart deprive
Of all that keeps its energy alive;
Can see consign'd to shame the trusting fair,
And turn confiding fondness to despair;
To watch that time -- a name is not assign'd
For crime so odious, nor shall learning find.
Now, from that day has Lucy laid aside
Her proper cares, to be her sister's guide,
Guard, and protector. At their uncle's farm
They past the period of their first alarm,
But soon retired, nor was he grieved to learn
They made their own affairs their own concern.
'I knew not then their worth; and, had I known,
Could not the kindness of a friend have shown;
For men they dreaded; they a dwelling sought,
And there the children of the village taught;
There, firm and patient, Lucy still depends
Upon her efforts, not upon her friends;
She is with persevering strength endued,
And can be cheerful -- for she will be good.
'Jane too will strive the daily tasks to share,
That so employment may contend with care;
Not power, but will, she shows, and looks about
On her small people, who come in and out;
And seems of what they need, or she can do, in doubt.
There sits the chubby crew on seats around,
While she, all rueful at the sight and sound,
Shrinks from the free approaches of the tribe,
Whom she attempts lamenting to describe,
With stains the idlers gather'd in their way,
The simple stains of mud, and mould, and clay,
And compound of the streets, of what we dare not say;
With hair uncomb'd, grimed face, and piteous look,
Each heavy student takes the odious book,
And on the lady casts a glance of fear,
Who draws the garment close as he comes near;
She then for Lucy's mild forbearance tries,
And from her pupils turns her brilliant eyes,
Making new efforts, and with some success,
To pay attention while the students guess;
Who to the gentler mistress fain would glide,
And dread their station at the lady's side.
'Such is their fate: -- there is a friendly few
Whom they receive, and there is chance for you;
Their school, and something gather'd from the wreck
Of that bad Bank, keeps poverty in check;
And true respect, and high regard, are theirs,
The children's profit, and the parents' prayers.
With Lucy rests the one peculiar care,
That few must see, and none with her may share;
More dear than hope can be, more sweet than pleasures are.
For her sad sister needs the care of love
That will direct her, that will not reprove,
But waits to warn: for Jane will walk alone,
Will sing in low and melancholy tone;
Will read or write, or to her plants will run
To shun her friends, -- alas! her thoughts to shun.
'It is not love alone disturbs her rest,
But loss of all that ever hope possess'd;
Friends ever kind, life's lively pleasures, ease,
When her enjoyments could no longer please;
These were her comforts then! she has no more of these.
'Wrapt in such thoughts, she feels her mind astray,
But knows 'tis true, that she has lost her way;
For Lucy's smile will check the sudden flight,
And one kind look let in the wonted light.
'Fits of long silence she endures, then talks
Too much -- with too much ardour, as she walks;
But still the shrubs that she admires dispense
Their balmy freshness to the hurried sense,
And she will watch their progress, and attend
Her flowering favourites as a guardian friend;
To sun or shade she will her sweets remove,
"And here," she says, "I may with safety love."
'But there are hours when on that bosom steals
A rising terror, -- then indeed she feels; --
Feels how she loved the promised good, and how
She feels the failure of the promise now.
'"That other spoiler did as robbers do,
Made poor our state, but not disgraceful too.
This spoiler shames me, and I look within
To find some cause that drew him on to sin;
He and the wretch who could thy worth forsake
Are the fork'd adder and the loathsome snake;
Thy snake could slip in villain-fear away,
But had no fang to fasten on his prey.
'"Oh! my dear Lucy, I had thought to live
With all the comforts easy fortunes give;
A wife caressing, and caress'd, -- a friend,
Whom he would guide, advise, consult, defend,
And make his equal; -- then I fondly thought
Among superior creatures to be brought;
And while with them, delighted to behold
No eye averted, and no bosom cold; --
Then at my home, a mother, to embrace
My -- -- Oh! my sister, it was surely base!
I might forget the wrong; I cannot the disgrace.
'"Oh! when I saw that triumph in his eyes,
I felt my spirits with his own arise;
I call'd it joy, and said, the generous youth
Laughs at my loss -- no trial for his truth;
It is a trifle he can not lament,
A sum but equal to his annual rent;
And yet that loss, the cause of every ill,
Has made me poor, and him -- "
'"O! poorer still;
Poorer, my Jane, and far below thee now:
The injurer he, -- the injured sufferer thou;
And shall such loss afflict thee?" --
'"Lose I not
With him what fortune could in life allot?
Lose I not hope, life's cordial, and the views
Of an aspiring spirit? -- O! I lose
Whate'er the happy feel, whate'er the sanguine choose.
'"Would I could lose this bitter sense of wrong,
And sleep in peace -- but it will not be long!
And here is something, Lucy, in my brain,
I know not what -- it is a cure for pain;
But is not death! -- no beckoning hand I see,
No voice I hear that comes alone to me;
It is not death, but change; I am not now
As I was once, -- nor can I tell you how;
Nor is it madness -- ask, and you shall find
In my replies the soundness of my mind:
O! I should be a trouble all day long;
A very torment, if my head were wrong."
'At times there is upon her features seen,
What moves suspicion -- she is too serene.
Such is the motion of a drunken man,
Who steps sedately, just to show he can.
Absent at times she will her mother call,
And cry at mid-day, "then good night to all."
But most she thinks there will some good ensue
From something done, or what she is to do;
Long wrapt in silence, she will then assume
An air of business, and shake off her gloom;
Then cry exulting, "O! it must succeed,
There are ten thousand readers -- all men read:
There are my writings, -- you shall never spend
Your precious moments to so poor an end;
Our peasants' children may be taught by those,
Who have no powers such wonders to compose;
So let me call them, -- what the world allows,
Surely a poet without shame avows;
Come, let us count what numbers we believe
Will buy our work -- Ah! sister, do you grieve?
You weep; there's something I have said amiss,
And vex'd my sister -- What a world is this!
And how I wander! -- Where has fancy run?
Is there no poem? Have I nothing done?
Forgive me, Lucy, I had fix'd my eye,
And so my mind, on works that cannot die;
Marmion and Lara yonder in the case,
And so I put me in the poet's place.
'"Still, be not frighten'd; it is but a dream;
I am not lost, bewilder'd though I seem;
I will obey thee -- but suppress thy fear --
I am at ease, -- then why that silly tear?"
'Jane, as these melancholy fits invade
The busy fancy, seeks the deepest shade;
She walks in ceaseless hurry, till her mind
Will short repose in verse and music find;
Then her own songs to some soft tune she sings,
And laughs, and calls them melancholy things;
Not frenzy all; in some her erring Muse
Will sad, afflicting, tender strains infuse:
Sometimes on death she will her lines compose,
Or give her serious page of solemn prose;
And still those favourite plants her fancy please,
And give to care and anguish rest and ease.

'"Let me not have this gloomy view,
About my room, around my bed;
But morning roses, wet with dew,
To cool my burning brows instead.
As flowers that once in Eden grew,
Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
And every day the sweets renew,
Till I, a fading flower, am dead.

'"Oh! let the herbs I loved to rear
Give to my sense their perfumed breath;
Let them be placed about my bier,
And grace the gloomy house of death.
I'll have my grave beneath an hill,
Where, only Lucy's self shall know;
Where runs the pure pellucid rill
Upon its gravelly bed below;
There violets on the borders blow,
And insects their soft light display,
Till, as the morning sun-beams glow,
The cold phosphoric fires decay.

'"That is the grave to Lucy shown,
The soil a pure and silver sand,
The green cold moss above it grown,
Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand:
In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,
There let my maiden form be laid,
Nor let my changed clay be spurned,
Nor for new guest that bed be made.

'"There will the lark, -- the lamb, in sport,
In air, -- on earth, -- securely play,
And Lucy to my grave resort,
As innocent, but not so gay.
I will not have the churchyard ground,
With bones all black and ugly grown,
To press my shivering body round,
Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.

'"With ribs and skulls I will not sleep,
In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
Through which the ringed earth-worms creep,
And on the shrouded bosom prey;
I will not have the bell proclaim
When those sad marriage rites begin,
And boys, without regard or shame,
Press the vile mouldering masses in.

'"Say not, it is beneath my care;
I cannot these cold truths allow;
These thoughts may not afflict me there,
But, O! they vex and tease me now.
Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,
That man a maiden's grave may trace,
But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
And let affection find the place.

'"O! take me from a world I hate,
Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
And, in some pure and blessed state,
Let me my sister minds behold:
From gross and sordid views refined,
Our heaven of spotless love to share,
For only generous souls design'd,
And not a man to meet us there."'





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net