The Poetical Works of George Crabbe, etc

Front matter

thk POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE CRABBE. sue* ' sdetf; wM&fe. THE POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE CRABBE. COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 9AJRM PUBLISHED BY A. AND W. GALIGNANI AND C., N» 18, RUE VIVIENNE. ffltmoiv of tfyt Meb. <&eovQe atvattftt. If the humorous observation of Addison1 were founded in fact, that a reader seldom peruses a book with pleasure « till he knows whether the writer of it be a black or fair man — of a mild or choleric disposition, — with other particulars of the like nature," — we should be in a state of some apprehensiou, since the Rev. George Crabbe, the celebrated author of the poems a new edi tion of which we here present to the public, has, from the modesty and retiredness of his life, furnished but few biographical particulars to be developed to an admiring world. Unlike so many others of his genus, he has never inter meddled iu the turmoils of politics, or mingled in the intrigues of fashion.

He is, in his manners and feelings, a child of nature; though a savant in. her dispositions and her laws. Contented with keeping the « noiseless tenor of his way,» with the approbation of his conscience and the approval of his God, — he is willing to allow some to be the idol of the factious, and others to fawn at the footstool of power; — satisfied himself with being admired as a poet. — revered as a divine, — and respected as a man. he had the good fortune to find a friend in the illustrious Edmund Burke. F.ncouraged hy the favourable opinion, and honoured with the advice of that eminent man of taste and genius (in whose presence, in fact, part of the poems was written, aud to whose judgment the whole was submitted), he published, in 1781, his poem of the .. Library;*, which met, as might he expected from such auspices, a very favourable reception.

He soon afterwards published a poem called *, the Village,** which stamped his characler as a great Poet. It was recommended to the notice of Doctor Johnson, and procured him the warm appro bation of that consummate but fastidious critic. Such approbation was alone a triumph: for the author of the **Vanity of Human Wishes** strongly evinced the genus irrilabile vatum ; he was jealous of rivalry and niggard of praise; and, although the simple in style, and minute in description (the characteristics of Crabbe) were adverse to his taste and foreign to his example, he was pleased with the work, and gave his Jiat of ap probation. To have obtained the praise and favour of two men who may justly be characterized as the great contemporary representatives of the mind of Great Britain, must alone be considered a high proof ol superior intellect; and might well have war ranted a hope that his further appearance, as a Poet, would not long be delayed to an anxious public.

Preface

. About twenty-five years since was published a poem called . The Library;, which, in no long time, was fol lowed by two others, .The Village,, and . The News papers these, with a few alterations and additions, are here reprinted; and are accompanied by a poem of greater length, and several shorter attempts, now, for the first time, before the public; whose reception of them creates in their author something more than com mon solicitude, because he conceives that, with the judgment to be formed of these latterproductions, upon whatever may be found intrinsically meritorious or de fective, there will be united an inquiry into the relative degree of praise or blame which they may be thought to deserve, when compared with the more early-attempts of the same writer. And certainly, were it the principal employment of a man's life to compose verses, it might seem reasonable to expect that he would continue to improve as long as he continued to live; though, even then, there is some doubt whether such improvement would follow, and perhaps proof might be adduced to show it would not: but when, to this > idletraele,- is added some « calling,* with superior claims upon his time and attention, his progress in the art of versification will probably be in proportion neither to the years he has lived, nor even to the attempts he has made.

AVhile composing the first-published of these poems, the author was honoured with the notice, and assisted bv the advice of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke: part of it was written in bis presence, and the whole submitted to bis judgment, receiving, in its progress, the benefit of his correction : 1 hope, therefore, to ob tain pardon of ihe reader, if I eagerly seize the occasion, and, after so long a silence, endeavour to express a grateful sense of the benefits I have received from this gentleman, who was solicitous for my more essential interests, as well as benevolently anxious for my credit as a writer. I will not enter upon the subject of his extraordinary abilities ; it would be vanity, it would be weakness in me to believe that I could make them better known or more admired than they now are: but of his private worth, us his wishes to do good, of his affability and condescension; his readiness to lend assistance wheu he knew it was wanted, and his delight to give praise where he thought it was deserved; of these I may write with some propriety.

All know that his powers were vast, his acquirements various; aud I take leave to add, that he applied them with unremitted attention to those objects which he believed tended to the honour and welfare of his country. But it maynot be so generally understood that he was ever assiduous in the more private duties of a benevolent nature, that he delighted to give encouragement to any promise of ability, and as sistance to any appearance of desert : towhat purposes he employed his pen, and with whit eloquence he spake in the senate, will be told by many, who yet may be ignorant of the solid instruction, as well as the fascinating pleasantry, found in his common conversation, amongst his friends, and his affectionate manners, amiable disposition, and zeal for their happiness, which he manifested in the hours of retirement with his family. approved.

Since the publication of this poem more than twenty years have elapsed, and I am not without apprehension, lest so long a silence should be construed into a blama ble neglect of my own interest, which those excellent friends were desirous of promoting : or, what is yet worse, into a want of gratitude for their asssistance; 1 See lhe Life of S. Johnson, by Boswell, vol. iv, p. i85, octavo edition. . Neither of the..e were adopted ; the author had written, about lhat time, some verses 10 lhe memory of Lord Roberl Munoers, brother 10 lhe lale Duke of Holland : nod tb.-.c-, I.y a junction, il is presumed nol forced or unnatural, form the concluding j.art of ■ The Village..

PREFACE.

I since it becomes me to suppose, they considered these first attempts as promises of better things, and their favours as stimulants to future exertion. And here, be the construction put upon my apparent negligence what it may, let me not suppress my testimony to the liberality of those who are looked up to, as patrons and encouragers of literary merit, or indeed of merit of any kind: their patronage has never been refused, 1 con ceive, when it has been reasonably expected or modestly required; and it would be difficult, probably, to in stance, in these times and in this country, any one who merited or was supposed to merit assistance, but who nevertheless languished in obscurity or necessity for want of it; unless in those cases where it was prevented by the resolution of impatient pride, or wearied by the solicitations of determined profligacy.

And, while the subject is before me, I am unwilling to pass silently over the debt of gratitude which I owe to the memory of two deceased noblemen, His Grace the late Duke of Rutland, and the Right Honourable the Lord Thurlow : sensible of tbe honour done me by their notice, and the benefits received from them, I trust this acknowledg ment will be imputed to its only motive, a grateful sense of their favours. (as I have the information from Lord Holland, and his Lordship's permission to inform my readers) the poem which I have named - The Parish Register* was heard by Mr Fox, and it excited interest enough, by some of its parts, to gain for me the benefit of his judgment upon the whole. Whatever he approved, the reader will readily believe, I have carefully retained; the parts he disliked are totally expunged, and others are substituted, which I hope resemble those, more conformable to the taste of so admirable a judge.

Nor can I deny myself the melancholy satisfaction of adding, that this poem (and more especially the story of Phœbe Dawson,1 with some parts of the second book), were the last composi tions of their kind that engaged and amused the capacious, the candid, the benevolent mind of this great man. The above information I owe to the favour of the Right Honourable Lord Holland; nor this only, but to his Lordship I am indebted for some excellent remarks upon the other parts of my MS. It was not indeed my good fortune then to know that my verses were in the hands of a nobleman who had given proof of his accurate judgment asa critic, and his elegance as a writer, by favouring the public with an easy and spirited translation of some interesting scenes of a dramatic poet, not often read in this kingdom.

The Life of Lopez de Vega was then unknown to me ; I had, in common with many English readers, heard of him, but could not judge whether his far-extended reputation was caused by the sublime efforts of a mighty genius, or the unequalled facility of a rapid composer, aided by peculiar and fortunate circumstances. That any part of my MS. was honoured by the remarks of Lord Holland yields me a high degree of satisfaction, and his Lordship will perceive the use I have made of them ; but I must feel some regret when I know to what small portion they were limited ; and discerning, as I do, the taste and judgment bestowed upon the verses of Lopez de Vega, I must per,- ceive how much my own needed the assistance afforded to one, who cannot be sensible of the benefit he has received. Upon this subject I could dwell with much pleasure; but, to give a reason for that appearance of neglect, as it is more difficult, so, happily, it is less required.

In truth, I have, for many years, intended a republication of these poems, as soon as I should be able to join with them such other of later date as might not deprive me of the little credit the former had obtained. Long indeed has this purpose been procrastinated : and if the duties of a profession, not before pressing upon me ; if the claims of a situation, at that time untried ; if diffidence of my own judgment, and the loss of my earliest friends, will not sufficiently account for my delay, I must rely upon the good-nature of my reader, that he will let them avail as far as he can, and find an additional apology in my fears of his censure. These fears being so prevalent with me, I determined not to publish any thing more, unless I could first obtain the sanction of such an opinion as I might with some confidence rely upon.

I looked fora frieDd who, having the discerning taste of Mr Rurke, and the critical sagacity of Doctor Johnson, would bestow upon my MS. the attention requisite to form his opinion, and would then favour me with the result of his observations: and it was my singular good fortune to gain such assistance; the opinion of a critic so qualified, and a friend so disposed to favour me. I had been honoured by an introduction to the Right Honourable Charles- James Fox some years before, at the seat of Mr Rurke ; and being again with him, I received a promise that he would peruse any work I might send to him previous to its publication, and would give me his opinion. At that time, I did not think myself sufficiently prepared; and when, afterwards, I had collected some poems for his inspection, I found my right honourable friend engaged by the affairs of a great empire, and struggling with the inveteracy of a fatal disease ; at such time, upon such mind, ever disposed to oblige as that mind was, I could not obtrude the petty business of criticising verses : but lie remembered the promise he had kindly given, and repeated an offer, which, though I had not presumed to expect, I was happy to receive.

A copy of the poems, now first published, was immediately sent to him, and Rut how much soever I lament the advantages lost, let me remember with gratitude the helps 1 have obtained. "With a single exception, every poem in the ensuing collection has been submitted to the critical sagacity of a gentleman, upon whose skill and candour their author could rely. To publish by advice of friends has been severely ridiculed, and that too by a poet, who probably, without such advice, never made public any verses of his own : in fact, it may not be easily determined who acts with less discretion, the writer who is encouraged to publish his works, merely by the advice of friends whom he consulted, or lie who, against advice, publishes from the sole encouragement of his own opinion. These are deceptions to be carefully avoided, and I was happy to escape the latter, by the friendly attentions of the Reverend Richard Turner, minister of Great Yarmouth.

Tothis gentleman lam indebted more than I am able to describe, or than he is willing to allow, for the time he has bestowed upon the attempts I have made. He is, indeed, the kind of critic for whom every poet should devoutly wish, and the friend whom every man would be happy to acquire; he has taste to discern all that is meritorious, and sagacity to detect whatso- 1 See page 18. Be ihame - to him lhat gives aod him Lhat takes. - ever should be discarded; he gives just the opinion an author's wisdom should covet, however his vanity might prompt him to reject it; what altogether to expunge and what to improve he has repeatedly taught me, and, could I have obeyed him in the latter direction, as I in variably have in the former, the public would have found this collection more worthy its attention, and I should have sought the opinion of the critic more void of apprehension.

The verses in page 41 want a tide; nor does the motto, although it gave occasion to them, altogether express the sense of the writer, who meant to observe that some of our best acquisitions, and some of our nobler conquests, are rendered ineffectual, by the passing away of op portunity, and the changes made by time; an argument that such acquirements and moral habits are reserved for a state of being in which they have the uses here de nied them. Rut whatever I may hope or fear, whatever assistance I have had or have needed, it becomes me to leave my verses to the judgment of the reader, without my endeavour to point out their merit, or an apology for their defects: yet as, among the poetical attempts of one who has been for many years a priest, it may seem a want of respect for the legitimate objects of his study, that no thing occurs, unless it be incidentally, of the great sub jects of religion; so it may appear a kind of ingratitude of a beneficed clergyman, that he has not employed his talent (be it estimated as it may) to some patriotic pur pose; as in celebrating the unsubdued spirit of his coun trymen in their glorious resistance of those enemies, who would have no peace throughout the world, except that which is dictated to the drooping spirit of suffering hu manity by the triumphant insolence of military success.

Credit will be given to me, I hope, when I affirm lhat subjects so interesting have the due weight with me, which the sacred nature of the one, and the national importance of the olheT, must impress upon every mind not seduced into carelessness for religion by the lethar gic influence of a perverted philosophy, nor into indifference for the cause of our country by hyperbolical or hypocritical professions of universal philanthropy: but, after many efforts lo satisfy myself by various trials on these subjects, I declined all further attempt, from a conviction that I should not be able to give satisfaction to my readers. Poetry of a religious nature must indeed ever be clogged with almost insuperable difficulty : but there are doubtless to be found poets who are well qua lified to celebrate the unanimous and heroic spirit of our countrymen, and to describe in appropriate colours some of those extraordinary scenes, which have been and are shifting in the face of Europe, with such dreadful celerity; and to such I relinquish the duty.

It remains for me to give the reader a brief view of those articles in the following collection, which for the first lime solicit his attention. In the story of 1 Sir Eustace Grey,- an attempt is made to describe the wanderings of a mind, first irri tated by the consequences of error and misfortune, and afterwards soothed by a species of enthusiastic conver sion, still keeping him insane; a task very difficult, and, if the presumption of the attempt may find pardon, it will not be refused to the failure of the poet. It is said of our Shakspeare, respecting madness, Id that circle oooe dare walk but he: — yet be it granted to one, who dares not to pass the boundary fixed for common minds, at least to step near to the tremendous verge, and form some idea of the ter rors lhat are stalking in the interdicted space.

When first I had written • Aaron, or The Gipsy,» I had no unfavourable opinion of it; and had I been col lecting my verses at that time for publication, I should certainly have included this tale. >*ine years have since elapsed, and I continue to judge the same of it, thus li terally obeying one of the directions given by the pru dence of criticism to the eagerness of the poet: but how far I may have conformed lo rules of more importance must be left to the less partial judgment of the readers. The concluding poem, entitled . Woman !« was writ ten at the time when the quotation from Mr Lcdvard was first made public: the expression has since become hackneyed; but the sentiment is congenial with our feelings, and though somewhat amplified in these verses, it is hoped they are not so far extended as to be come tedious.

After this brief account of his subjects, lhe author leaves them to their fate, not presuming to make any remarks upon the kinds of versification he has chosen, or the merit of lhe execution: he has indeed brought forward the favourable opinion of his friends, and for lhat he earnestly hopes liis motives will Le rightly un derstood: it was a step of which he felt the advantage, while he foresaw tbe danger : he was aw are of the be nefit, if his readers would consider him as one who puts on a defensive armour against hasty and determined se verity; but he feels also the hazard, lest they should suppose he looks upon himself to be guarded by his friends, and so secure in the defence, that he may defy the fair judgment of legal criticism. It will probably be said, _ he has btought with him his testimonials to the bar of the public;- and he must admit the truth of the remark : but he begs leave to observe in reply, that, of those who bear testimonials of any kind, the greater uumbers feel apprehension, aud not security; they are indeed so far from the enjoyment of victory, of the ex ultation of triumph, lhat with all they can do for thein selres, with all their friends have done for them, they arc, like him, in dread of examination, and in fear of disappointment.

In the - Parish Register,* he will find an endeavour once more to describe village-manners, not by adopting the notion of pastoral simplicity or assuming ideas of rustic barbarity, but by more natural views of the pea santry, considered as a mixed body of persons, sober or profligate, and hence, in a great measure, contented or miserable. To this more geueral description are added the various characters which occur in the three parts of a Register; Baptism, Marriages, and Burials. If the « Birth of Flattery" offer no moral, as an appendage to the fable, it is hoped that nothing of an im moral, nothing of improper tendency will be imputed to a piece of poetical playfulness; in fact, genuine praise, like all other species of truth, is known by its bearing full investigation: it is what the giver is happy lhat he can justly bestow, ami the receiver conscious that he inaj boldly accept; but adulation must ever lw as raid ol inquiry, and must, in proportion lo their degrees of id sensibility, MtLston, Leicestershire, September, 1S07.

THE VILLAGE Where other cares than those the Muse relates, And other shepherds dwell with other mates; By such examples taught, I paint the cot, As Truth will paint it, and as Rards will not: Nor you, ye poor, of lettcr'd scorn complain, To you the smoothest song is smooth in vain ; O'ercome by labour, and bow'd down by time, Fee! you the barren flattery of a rhyme ? Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread, By winding myrtles round your ruin'd shed ? Can their light tales your weighty griefs o'erpower, Or glad with airy mirth the toilsome hour? THE VILLAGE.

Book I

The Subject proposed — Rejnarks upon Pastoral Poetry — A Tract of Country near the Coast described — An impoverished Rorough — Smugglers and their Assistants — Rude Manners of the Inhabitants — Ruinous Effects of a high Tide — The Village Life more generally considered : Evils of it — The youthful Labourer —The old Man: his Soliloquy— The Parish Workhouse: its Inhabitants — The sick Poor : their Apothecary — The dying Pauper — The Village Priest. Lo ! where the heath, with withering brake grown o'er, Lends the light turf that warms the neighbouring poor; From thence a length of burning sand appears, Where the thin harvest waves its wither* d ears; The Village Life, and every care that reigns O'er youthful peasants and declining swains; What labour yields, and what, that labour past, Age, in its hour of languor, finds at last; What form the real picture of the poor, Demand a song — the Muse can give no more.

Fled are those times, when, in harmonious strains, The rustic poet praised his native plains: No shepherds now, in smooth alternate verse, Their country's beauty or their nymphs' rehearse; Yet still for these we frame the tender strain, 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; There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil; There the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy 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. So looks the nymph whom wretched aits adorn, Bctray'd by man, then left for man to scorn ; Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic rose, While her sad eyes the troubled breast disclose; Whose outward splendour is but folly's dress, Exposing most, when most it gilds distress.

Here joyless roam a wild amphibious race, With sullen wo display'd in every face; Still in our lays fond Corydons complain, And shepherds* boys their amorous pains reveal, The only pains, alas! they never feel. On Mincio's banks, in Cæsar's bounteous reign, If Tityrus found the Golden Age again, Must sleepy bards tbe flattering dream prolong, Mechanic echoes of the Mantuan song? From Truth and Nature shall we widely stray, Where Virgil, not where Fancy, leads the way? Yes, thus the Muses sing of happy swains, Recause the Muses never knew their pains: They boast their peasants' pipes; but peasants now Resign their pipes, and plod behind the plough; And few, amid the rural tribe, have time To number syllables, and play with rhyme; Save honest Duck, what son of verse could share The poet's rapture, and the peasant's care?

Or the great labours of the field degrade, With the new peril of a poorer trade? Who, far from civil arts and social fly, And scowl at strangers with suspicious eye. Here too the lawless merchant of the main Draws from his plough th' intoxicated swain; Want only claim'd the labour of the day, But vice now steals his nightly rest away. Where are the swains, who, daily labour done, With rural games play'd down the setting sun; Who struck with matchless force the bounding ball, Or made the pond'rous quoit obliquely fall ; While some huge Ajax, terrible and strong, Engaged some artful stripling of the throng, And fell beneath him, foil'd, while far around Hoarse triumph rose, and rocks return'd the sound? Where now are these? — Beneath yon cliff they stand, To show the freighted pinnace where to land; From this chief cause these idle praises spring, That themes so easy few forbear to sing; For no deep thought the trifling subjects ask; To sing of shepherds is an easy task : The happy youth assumes the common strain, A nymph his mistress, and himself a swain ; With no sad scenes lie clouds his tuneful prayer, Rut all, to look like her, is painted fair.

I grant indeed that fields and slocks have charms For him that grazes or for him that farms; But when amid such pleasing scenes I trace To load the ready steed with guilty haste, To sly in terror o'er the pathless waste, Or, when detected, in their straggling course, To foil their foes by cunning or by force; Or, yielding part (which equal knaves demand), To gain a lawless passport through the land. Here, wand' ring long, amid these frowning fields, I sought the simple life that Nature yields ; Rapine and Wrong and Fear usurp'd her place, And a bold, artful, surly, savage race; The poor laborious natives of the place, And see the mid-day sun, with fervid ray, On their bare heads and dewy temples play; While some, with feebler heads and fainter hearts, Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts; Then shall I dare these real ills to hide Who, only skill'd to take the linny tribe, The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe, Wait on the shore, and, as the waves run high, On the tost vessel bend their eager eye, In tinsel trappings of poetic pride?

No ; cast by Fortune on a frowning coast, Which neither groves nor happy valleys boast ; Which to their coast directs its vent'rous way; Theirs, or the ocean's, miserable prey. As on their neighbouring beach yon swallows stand, And wait for favouring winds to leave the land; While still for slight the ready wing is spread : So waited I the favouring hour, and sled; Fled from these shores where guilt and famine reign, And cried, Ah ! hapless they who still remain ; Who still remain to hear the ocean roar, Whose greedy waves devour the lessening shore; Till some fierce tide, with more imperious sway, Sweeps the low hut and all it holds away; W hen the sad tenant weeps from door to door, And begs a poor protection from the poor ! For yonder see tbat hoary swain, whose age Can with no cares except his own engage ; Who, propp'd on that rude staff, looks up to see The bare arms broken from die withering tree, On which, a boy, he climb'd the loftiest bough, Then his first joy, but his sad emblem now.

He once was chief in all the rustic trade; His steady hand the straightest furrow made ; Full many a prize he won, and still is proud To find the triumphs of his youth allow'd ; A transient pleasure sparkles in his eyes, He hears and smiles, then thinks again and sighs : For now he journeys to his grave in pain ; The rich disdain him ; nay, the poor disdain : Alternate masters now their slave command, Urge the weak efforts of his feeble hand, And, when his age attempts its task in vain, With ruthless taunts, of lazy poor complain.1 But these arc scenes where Nature's niggard hand Gave a spare portion to the famish'd land; Hers is the fault, if here mankind complain Of fruitless toil and labour spent in vain ; But yet in other scenes more fair in view, Where Plenty smiles — alas! she smiles for few — And those who taste not, yet behold her store, Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore, The wealth around them makes them doublv poor.