"MAN ALONE HAS SKILL AND POWER TO SEND THE HEART'S WARM DICTATES TO THE DISTANT FRIEND;

HERE is yon house that holds the parish poor,
Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door;
There, where the putrid vapours, flagging, play,
And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day;-
There children dwell who know no parents' care;
Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there!
Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed,
Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed;
Dejected widows with unheeded tears,

And crippled age with more than childhood fears;
The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest they!
The moping idiot, and the madman gay.

Here too the sick their final doom receive,
Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve,
Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow,
Mixt with the clamours of the crowd below;
Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan,
And the cold charities of man to man :
Whose laws, indeed, for ruined age provide,
And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride;
But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh,
And pride embitters what it can't deny.
Say, ye, opprest by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose;
Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance
With timid eye to read the distant glance;
Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease,
To name the nameless ever new disease;
Who with mock patience dire complaints endure,
Which real pain, and that alone, can cure;

FOOLS THEY ADMONISH, AND CONFIRM THE WISE."-CRABBE.

'TIS HIS ALONE TO PLEASE, INSTRUCT, ADVISE, AGES REMOTE, AND NATIONS YET TO RISE."-CRABBE.

"TO HIM PERHAPS THE MILDEST LOT ASSIGNED WHO FEELS HIS CONSOLATION IN HIS MIND,-(CRABBE)

"WHEN GRIEVED, TO PRAY; WHEN INJURED, TO FORGIVE;

How would ye bear in real pain to lie,
Despised, neglected, left alone to die?

How would ye bear to draw your latest breath
Where all that's wretched paves the way for death?

Such is that room which one rude beam divides,
And naked rafters form the sloping sides;

Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen,
And lath and mud are all that lie between ;
Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patched, gives way
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day :
Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;
For him no hand the cordial cup applies,
Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes;
No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile,
Or promise hope, till sickness wears a smile.

[From "The Village," book i. "The description of the parish work-
house," says Lord Jeffrey, "is no common poetry." It applies, in a great
degree, to a past state of things; but the force, spirit, and truth of the
sketch are far removed from exaggeration.]

AND, LOCKED WITHIN HIS BOSOM, BEARS ABOUT A MENTAL CHARM FOR EVERY CARE WITHOUT."-CRABBE.

A SEA-SHORE LANDSCAPE.

O! where the heath, with withering brake grown
o'er,

Lends the light turf that warms the neighbour

ing poor,

From thence a length of burning sand appears,
Where the thin harvest waves its withered ears;
Rank weeds, that every art and care defy,
Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted rye ;
There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar,
And to the ragged infant threaten war;

AND WITH THE WORLD IN CHARITY TO LIVE."-CRABBE.

"CARE LIVES WITH ALL; NO RULES, NO PRECEPTS SAVE THE WISE FROM LOVE, NO FORTITUDE THE BRAVE CRABBE)

146

"TRANSIENT, WE BEQUEATH A LINGERING PAIN."-CRABBE.

GEORGE CRABBE.

There poppies, nodding, mock the hope of toil;
There the blue bugloss * paints the sterile soil;
Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf,
The shiny mallow † waves her silky leaf;

O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a shade,
And clasping tares cling round the sickly blade.
With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound,

And a sad splendour vainly shines around.

[From "The Village," book i. Every visitor to the Suffolk coast, in the neighbourhood of Aldborough or Dunwich, will recognize the graphic power of the poet's picture, which was evidently painted from the life. Of Crabbe's "Village" it was said by a critic, soon after its publication, that such were its merits, Goldsmith's, henceforth, would be doubly "The Deserted Village." The remark was unjust, from the complete dissimilarity in style and sentiment existing between the two poems.]

THE SONS OF LABOUR.

O then! and see them rising with the sun,
Through a long course of daily toil to run;
See them beneath the Dog-star's raging heat,
When the knees tremble and the temples beat;
Behold them, leaning on their scythes, look o'er
The labour past, and toils to come explore;
See them alternate suns and showers engage,
And hoard up aches and anguish for their age;
Through fens and marshy moors their steps pursue,
When their warm pores imbibe the evening dew;
Then own that labour may as fatal be
To these thy slaves, as thine excess to thee.

The Bugloss is the Lycopsis arvensis (genus Lycopsis, natural order
Boragineae).
†The Common Mallow (Malva sylvestris), belonging to the natural order
Malvaceae.

The Charlock is better known as the Wild Mustard (Sinapis arvensis),
a weed which the farmer finds very troublesome in his corn-fields.

66 GRIEF IS TO MAN AS CERTAIN AS THE GRAVE."-CRABBE.

TEMPESTS AND STORMS IN LIFE'S WHOLE PROGRESS RISE, AND HOPE SHINES DIMLY THROUGH THE SKIES."-CRABBE.

"MAN MAY THE STERNER VIRTUES KNOW-DETERMINED JUSTICE, TRUTH SEVERE (CRABBE)

HARD IS HIS FATE WHO BUILDS HIS PEACE OF MIND

THE SONS OF LABOUR.

147

BUT FEMALE HEARTS WITH PITY GLOW, AND WOMAN HOLDS AFFLICTION DEAR."-CRABBE.

["Behold them, leaning on their scythes."]
Amid this tribe too oft a manly pride
Strives in strong toil the fainting heart to hide;
There may you see the youth of slender frame
Contend with weakness, weariness, and shame ;
Yet, urged along, and proudly loth to yield,
He strives to join his fellows of the field:
Till long-contending nature droops at last,
Declining health rejects his poor repast,
His cheerless spouse the coming danger sees,
And mutual murmurs urge the slow disease.

Yet grant them health; 'tis not for us to tell,
Though the head droops not, that the heart is well :
Or will you praise that homely, healthy fare,
Plenteous and plain, that happy peasants share!
Oh, trifle not with wants you cannot feel,
Nor mock the misery of a stinted meal!
Homely, not wholesome, plain, not plenteous, such
As you who praise would never deign to touch.

Ye gentle souls, who dream of rural ease,

Whom the smooth stream and smoother sonnet please;

148

"COMPUNCTION WEEPS OUR GRIEFS AWAY,

GEORGE CRABBE.

Go! if the peaceful cot your praises share,
Go, look within, and ask if peace be there;
If peace be his, that drooping weary sire;

Or theirs, that offspring round their feeble fire;
Or hers, that matron pale, whose trembling hand
Turns on the wretched hearth th' expiring brand!

"TO WOMAN'S GENTLE KIND WE OWE WHAT COMFORTS AND DELIGHTS US HERE;-(GEORGE CRABBE)

THEY ITS GAY HOPES ON YOUTH BESTOW, AND CARE THEY SOOTHE, AND AGE THEY CHEER."-CRABBE.

["That offspring round their feeble fire."]

Nor yet can time itself obtain for these
Life's latest comforts, due respect and ease;
For yonder see that hoary swain, whose age
Can with no cares except its own engage;
Who, propped on that rude staff, looks up to see
The bare arms broken from the withering tree,
On which, a boy, he climbed the loftiest bough,
Then his first joy, but his sad emblem now.

[From "The Village," book i.-"The scope of the poem is to show that
the villagers of real life have no resemblance to the villagers of poetry: that
poverty, in sober truth, is very uncomfortable, and vice by no means con-
fined to the opulent. The foregoing passage is powerfully and finely
written."-Lord Jeffrey.]

THE SINNER'S SAFETY IS HIS PAIN."-CRABBE.