"WE CANNOT HEAL THE THROBBING HEART-(CRABBE)
A COMMONPLACE ROMANCE.
ES! there are real mourners-I have seen
A fair, sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene;
Attention (through the day) her duties claimed,
And to be useful as resigned she aimed:
Neatly she dressed, nor vainly seemed t'expect
Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect ;
But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep,
She sought her place to meditate and weep:
"THUS IN EXTREMES OF COLD AND HEAT, WHERE WANDERING MAN MAY TRACE HIS KIND,
[" She sought her place to meditate and weep."]
Then to her mind was all the past displayed,
That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid;
For then she thought on one regretted Youth,
Her tender trust, and his unquestioned truth:
In every place she wandered where they'd been,
And sadly sacred held the parting scene;
Where last for sea he took his leave-that place
With double interest would she nightly trace;
TILL WE DISCERN THE WOUNDS WITHIN."-CRABBE.
WHEREVER GRIEF AND WANT RETREAT, IN WOMAN THEY COMPASSION FIND."-CRABBE.
"LET US KEEP OUR BOSOMS FURE, AND FANCY'S FAVOURITE FLIGHTS SUPPRESS;-(CRABBE)
"TIS GOOD THE FAINTING SOUL TO CHEER,-(CRABBE)
For long the courtship was, and he would say,
Each time he sailed, "This once, and then the day :"
Yet prudence tarried, but when last he went,
He drew from pitying love a full consent.
Happy he sailed, and great the care she took
That he should softly sleep and smartly look;
White was his better linen, and his check
Was made more trim than any on the deck;
And every comfort men at sea can know
Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow!
For he to Greenland sailed, and much she told
How he should guard against the climate's cold;
Yet saw not danger; dangers he'd withstood,
Nor could she trace the fever in his blood:
His messmates smiled at flushings in his cheek,
And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak ;
For now he found the danger, felt the pain,
With grievous symptoms he could not explain;
Hope was awakened, as for home he sailed,
But quickly sank, and never more prevailed.
He called his friend, and prefaced with a sigh
A lover's message :— "Thomas, I must die:
Would I could see my Sally, and could rest
My throbbing temples on her faithful breast,
And gazing go!-if not, this trifle take,
And say, till death I wore it for her sake:
Yes, I must die !-blow on, sweet breeze, blow on!
Give me one look before my life be gone,
Oh! give me that, and let me not despair,
One last fond look-and now repeat the prayer."
He had his wish, had more. I will not paint
The lovers' meeting: she beheld him faint,—
TO SEE THE FAMISHED STRANGer fed."-G. Crabbe.
PREPARE THE BODY TO ENDURE, AND BEND THE MIND TO MEET DISTRESS."-G. CRABBE.
WHOM TO TRUST, AND HOW TO SPARE, TO SPEND, TO GIVE,
66 HOW VICE AND VIRTUE IN THE SOUL CONTEND!- CRABBE)
With tender fears, she took a nearer view,
Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew;
He tried to smile, and, half succeeding, said,
"Yes! I must die !" and hope for ever fled.
Still, long she nursed him: tender thoughts meantime
Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime :
To her he came to die, and every day
She took some portion of the dread away;
With him she prayed, to him his Bible read,
Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching head:
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer :
Apart she sighed; alone, she shed the tear:
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.
One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot
The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot ;
They spoke with cheerfulness, and seemed to think,
Yet said not so—“ Perhaps he will not sink :"
A sudden brightness in his look appeared,
A sudden vigour in his voice was heard.
She had been reading in the Book of Prayer,
And led him forth, and placed him in his chair;
Lively he seemed, and spoke of all he knew,
The friendly many, and the favourite few;
Nor one that day did he to mind recall,
But she has treasured, and she loves them all.
He named his Friend, but then his hand she pressed,
And fondly whispered, "Thou must go to rest ;"
"I go," he said; but, as he spoke, she found
His hand more cold, and fluttering was the sound!
Then gazed affrightened; but she caught a last,
A dying look of love—and all was past !
HOW WIDELY DIFFER, YET HOW NEARLY BLEND!"-CRABBE.
OUR PRUDENCE KIND, OUR PITY JUST,-'TIS THEN WE RIGHTLY LEARN TO LIVE."-CRABBE.
"WHEN PRUDENCE BOUNDS ITS UTMOST VIEWS, AND BIDS US WRATH AND WRONG FORGIVE,
66 ALAS! WE FLY TO SILENT SCENES IN VAIN,-(george cRABBE)
She placed a decent stone his grave above,
Neatly engraved—an offering of her love;
For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed,
Awake alike to duty and the dead;
She would have grieved had friends presumed to spare
The least assistance-'twas her proper care.
Here will she come, and on the grave will sit,
Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit;
But, if observer pass, will take her round,
And careless seem, for she would not be found;
Then go again, and thus her hours employ,
While visions please her, and while woes destroy.
[This pathetic and tenderly-told story occurs in "The Borough," letter ii. "It is," as Jeffrey says, "a very touching and beautiful picture of innocent love, misfortune, and resignation-all of them taking a tinge of additional sweetness and tenderness from the humble condition of the parties." It was in sketching these domestic tragedies that Crabbe excelled; he never plunged into rant or exaggeration, though he sometimes descended to the mean and trivial.]
WHEN WE CAN CALMLY GAIN OR LOSE, 'TIS THEN WE RIGHTLY LEARN TO LIVE."-CRABBE.
HOLLOW on the left appeared,
And there a gipsy tribe their tent had reared;
'Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun,
And they had now their early meal begun,
When two brown boys just left their grassy seat,
The early traveller with their prayers to greet :
While yet Orlando held his pence in hand,
He saw their sister on her duty stand;
Some twelve years old, demure, affected, sly,
Prepared the force of early powers to try :
Sudden a look of langour he descries,
And well-feigned apprehension in her eyes;
CARE BLASTS THE HONOURS OF THE FLOW'RY PLAIN."-CRABBE.
"IS THERE NOTHING MEN CAN DO, WHEN CHILLING AGE COMES CREEPING ON?-(CRABBE)
AN ARDENT SPIRIT DWELLS WITH CHRISTIAN LOVE,
["And there a gipsy tribe their tent had reared."]
Trained, but yet savage, in her speaking face
He marked the features of her vagrant race;
When a light laugh and roguish leer expressed
The vice implanted in her youthful breast!
Within, the father, who from fences nigh
Had brought the fuel for the fire's supply,
Watched now the feeble blaze, and stood dejected by.
THE EAGLE'S VIGOUR IN THE PITYING DOVE."-CRABBE.
CANNOT WE YET SOME GOOD PURSUE?-ARE TALENTS BURIED? GENIUS GONE?"-CRABBE.
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