George Crabbe: Poems, Volume 2 (of 3) :: VARIANTS. VOL. I. ADDENDA.

VARIANTS. VOL. I. ADDENDA.

THE LIBRARY. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes Life and Poems (1834).

After l. 4:

Where can the wretched lose their cares, and hide The tears of sorrow from the eyes of pride? Can they in silent shades a refuge find From all the scorn and malice of mankind? From wit’s disdain, and wealth’s provoking sneer, } From folly’s grin, and humour’s stupid leer,} And clamour’s iron tongue, censorious and severe? } There can they see the scenes of nature gay, And shake the gloomy dreams of life away? Without a sigh, the hope of youth give o’er, And with aspiring honour climb no more. Alas! we fly to peaceful shades in vain; Peace dwells within, or all without is pain: No storm-tost sailor sighs for slumbering seas— He dreads a tempest, but desires a breeze. The placid waves with silent swell disclose A clearer view, and but reflect his woes. So life has calms, in which we only see A fuller prospect of our misery. When the sick heart, by no design employ’d, Throbs o’er the past, or suffer’d, or enjoy’d, In former pleasures finding no relief, And pain’d anew in every former grief. Can friends console us when our cares distress, Smile on our woes, and make misfortunes less? Alas! like winter’d leaves, they fall away, Or more disgrace our prospects by delay; The genial warmth, the fostering sap is past, That kept them faithful, and that held them fast. Where shall we fly?—to yonder still retreat, The haunt of Genius and the Muses’ seat, Where all our griefs in others’ strains rehearse, Speak with old Time, and with the dead converse; Till Fancy, far in distant regions flown, Adopts a thousand schemes, and quits her own; Skims every scene, and plans with each design, Towers in each thought, and lives in every line; From clime to clime with rapid motion flies, Weeps without woe, and without sorrow sighs; To all things yielding, and by all things sway’d, To all obedient, and by all obey’d; The source of pleasures, noble and refined, And the great empress of the Poet’s mind. Here led by thee, fair Fancy, I behold The mighty heroes, and the bards of old! For here the Muses sacred vigils keep, And all the busy cares of being sleep; No monarch covets war, nor dreams of fame, No subject bleeds to raise his tyrant’s name, No proud great man, or man that would be great, Drives modest merit from its proper state, Nor rapine reaps the good by labour sown, Nor envy blasts a laurel, but her own. Yet Contemplation, silent goddess, here, In her vast eye, makes all mankind appear, All Nature’s treasures, all the stores of Art, That fire the fancy, or engage the heart, The world’s vast views, the fancy’s wild domain, And all the motley objects of the brain: Here mountains hurl’d on mountains proudly rise, Far, far o’er Nature’s dull realities; Eternal verdure decks a sacred clime, Eternal spring for ever blooms in rhyme, And heroes honour’d for imputed deeds, And saints adored for visionary creeds, Legends and tales, and solitude and sighs, Poor doating dreams, and miserable lies, The empty bubbles of a pensive mind, And Spleen’s sad effort to debase mankind. Here Wonder gapes at Story’s dreadful page, And Valour mounts by true poetic rage, And Pity weeps to hear the mourning maid, And Envy saddens at the praise convey’d. Devotion kindles at the pious strain, And mocks the madness of the fool’s disdain: Here gentle Delicacy turns her eye From the loose page, and blushes her reply, Alone, unheeded, calls her soul to arms, Fears every thought, and flies from all alarms. Pale Study here, to one great point resign’d; Derides the various follies of mankind; As distant objects sees their several cares, And with his own their trifling work compares; But still forgets like him men take their view, And near their own, his works are trifling too:— So suns and planets scarcely fill the eye When earth’s poor hills and man’s poor huts are nigh; But, were the eye in airy regions tost, The world would lessen, and her hills be lost; And were the mighty orbs above us known, No world would seem so trifling as our own. Here looking back, the wond’ring soul surveys The sacred relics of departed days, Where grace, and truth, and excellence reside, To claim our praise, and mortify our pride; Favour’d by fate, our mighty fathers found The virgin Muse, with every beauty crown’d: They woo’d and won; and, banish’d their embrace, She comes a harlot to their feebler race: Deck’d in false taste, with gaudy shows of art She charms the eye, but touches not the heart; By thousands courted, but by few caress’d, False when pursued, and fatal when possess’d. From hence we rove, with Fancy for our guide, O’er this wide world, and other worlds more wide, Where other suns their vital power display, And round revolving planets dart the day; Where comets blaze, by mortals unsurvey’d, And stray where Galileo never stray’d; Where God himself conducts each vast machine, Uncensured by mankind, because unseen. Here, too, we trace the varied scenes of life, The tyrant husband, the retorting wife, The hero fearful to appear afraid, The thoughts of the deliberating maid; The snares for virtue, and the turns of fate, The lie of trade, and madness of debate; Here force deals death around, while fools applaud, And caution watches o’er the lips of fraud; Whate’er the world can show, here scorn derides, And here suspicion whispers what it hides— The secret thought, the counsel of the breast, The coming news, and the expected jest.... High panegyric, in exalted style, That smiles for ever, and provokes a smile, And Satire, with her fav’rite handmaids by— Here loud abuse, there simpering irony.... All now display’d, without a mask are known, And every vice in nature, but our own. Yet Pleasure too, and Virtue, still more fair, To this blest seat with mutual speed repair; The social sweets in life’s securer road, Its bliss unenvied, its substantial good, The happy thought that conscious virtue gives, And all that ought to live, and all that lives.

after l. 104:

Maxims I glean, of mighty pith and force, And moral themes to shine in a discourse, But, tired with these, I take a lighter train, Tuned to the times, impertinent and vain. The tarts which wits provide for taste decay’d, And syllabubs by frothy witlings made, An easy, idle, thoughtless, graceless throng, Pun, jest, and quibble, epigram and song, Trifles to which declining genius bends, And steps by which aspiring wit ascends. Now sad and slow, with cautious step I tread, And view around the venerable dead; For where in all her walks shall study seize Such monuments of human state as these?

after l. 430:

“Ah! happy age,” the youthful poet cries, “Ere laws arose—ere tyrants bade them rise; No land-marks then the happy swain beheld, Nor lords walk’d proudly o’er the furrow’d field; Nor through distorted ways did Avarice roam, To fetch delights for Luxury at home: But mutual joy the friends of Nature proved, And swains were faithful to the nymphs they loved.” “Mistaken bards! all nations first were rude; Man! proud, unsocial, prone to solitude: O’er hills, or vales, or floods, was fond to roam— The mead his garden, and the rock his home: For flying prey he searched a savage coast— Want was his spur, and liberty his boast.”

after l. 570:

Ah! lost, for ever lost, to me these charms, These lofty notions and divine alarms, Too dearly bought—maturer judgment calls My pensive soul from tales and madrigals— For who so blest or who so great as I, Wing’d round the globe with Rowland or Sir Guy? Alas! no more I see my queen repair To balmy bowers that blossom in the air, Where on their rosy beds the Graces rest, And not a care lies heavy on the breast. No more the hermit’s mossy cave I choose, Nor o’er the babbling brook delight to muse; My doughty giants all are slain or fled, And all my knights—blue, green, and yellow—dead! Magicians cease to charm me with their art, And not a griffin flies to glad my heart. No more the midnight fairy tribe I view, All in the merry moonshine tippling dew. The easy joys that charm’d my sportive youth, Fly Reason’s power, and shun the voice of Truth. Maturer thoughts severer taste prepares, And baffles every spell that charm’d my cares. Can Fiction, then, the noblest bliss supply, Or joy reside in inconsistency?

after l. 594:

But who are these, a tribe that soar above, And tell more tender tales of modern love? A Novel train! the brood of old Romance, Conceived by Folly on the coast of France, That now with lighter thought, and gentler fire, Usurp the honours of their drooping sire; And still fantastic, vain, and trifling, sing Of many a soft and inconsistent thing,— Of rakes repenting, clogg’d in Hymen’s chain— Of nymph reclined by unpresuming swain— Of captains, colonels, lords, and amorous knights, That find in humbler nymphs such chaste delights, Such heavenly charms, so gentle, yet so gay, That all their former follies fly away. Honour springs up, where’er their looks impart A moment’s sunshine to the harden’d heart— A virtue, just before the rover’s jest, Grows like a mushroom in his melting breast. Much, too, they tell of cottages and shades, Of balls, and routs, and midnight masquerades, Where dangerous men and dangerous mirth reside, And Virtue goes—on purpose to be tried. These are the tales that wake the soul to life, That charm the sprightly niece and forward wife, That form the manners of a polish’d age, And each pure easy moral of the Stage. Thus to her friend the ever-faithful she— The tender Delia—writes, securely free— Delia from school was lately bold to rove, Where yet Lucinda meditated love. “Oh thou, the partner of my pensive breast, And, but for one! its most delightful guest, But for that one of whom ’twas joy to talk, When the chaste moon gleam’d o’er our ev’ning walk, And cooing fondly in the neighbouring groves The pretty songsters all enjoy’d their loves; Receive! as witness all ye powers! I send, With melting heart, this token of thy friend. “Calm was the night! and every breeze was low; Swift ran the stream—but, ah! the moments slow! Fly swift, ye moments! slowly run, thou stream, And on thy margin let a maiden dream. “Methought he came, my Harry, young and gay, The very youth that stole my heart away. I wake. Surprise! yet guess how blest was I! With looks of love—the very youth was by. ‘Whose is that form my Delia’s bosom hides? What youth divinely blest within presides?’ He spoke and sigh’d. His sighs my fear supprest, He seized his angel form, and actions spoke the rest. “Oh, Virtue! brighter than the noon-tide ray! Still guide my steps, and guide them nature’s way; With sacred precepts fill the youthful mind, Soothe all its cares, and force it to be kind.” Thus, gentle passions warm the generous maid, No more reluctant, and no more afraid; Thus Virtue shines, and in her loveliest dress Not over nice, nor Virtue to excess. Near these I look, and lo! a reptile race, In goodly vests conceal the want of grace; The brood of Humour, Fancy, Frolic, Fun, The tale obscene, the miserable pun; The jest that Laughter loves, he knows not why, And Whim tells quaintly with distorted eye. Here Languor, yawning, pays his first devoirs, And skims sedately o’er his dear Memoirs; Here tries his tedious moments to employ, And, palsied by enjoyment, dreams of joy; From all the tribe his little knowledge steals, From dull “Torpedoes,” and “Electric Eels;” And every trifle of a trifling age, That shames the closet, or degrades the Stage.

after l. 602:

Here as I stand, of sovereign power possess’d, A vast ambition fires my swelling breast; I deal destruction round, and, all severe, Damn with a dash, and censure with a sneer; Or from the Critic wrest a sinking cause, Rejudge his justice, and repeal his laws; Now half by judgment guided, half by whim, I grasp disputed power, and tyrannise like him; Food for the mind I seek; but who shall find The food that satisfies the craving mind? Like fire it rages; and its fatal rage What pains can deaden, and what care assuage? Choked by its fuel, though it clouded lies, It soon eats through, and craves for new supplies; Now here, now there, with sudden fury breaks And to its substance turns whate’er it takes. To weighty themes I fly with eager haste, And skim their treasures like the man of taste; From a few pages learn the whole design,} And damn a book for one suspicious line,} Or steal its sentiments, and call them mine! }

THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in Life and Poems (1834).

Instead of ll. 1-9:

Muse of my Spenser, who so well could sing The Passions, and the sources whence they spring; Who taught the birth, the bearings, and the ties, The strong connections, nice dependencies, Of these the Foes of Virtue and the Friends, With whom she rises and with whom descends— A Syren’s birth, a Syren’s power I trace, Aid me, oh! Herald of the Fairy-race; Say whence she sprang, to what strange fortune born, And why we love and hate, desire and scorn.

instead of ll. 29-40:

From whom she sprang, not one around her knew, Nor why she came, nor what she had in view, Labour she loved not, had no wealth in store, Pursued no calling, yet was never poor, A thousand gifts her various arts repaid, And bounteous fairies blest the thriving maid; For she had secret means of easy gains, And Cunning was her name among the swains.

SIR EUSTACE GREY. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in Life and Poems (1834).

Instead of ll. 29-32:

The worthy doctor, and a friend. ’Tis more than kind to visit one Who has not now to spare or spend.

instead of l. 75:

Worms, doctor, worms, and so are we.

instead of ll. 100-7:

Madman! shall He who made this all, The parts that form the whole reject? Is aught with him so great or small, He cannot punish or protect? Man’s folly may his crimes neglect, And hope the eye of God to shun; But there’s of all the account correct— Not one omitted—no, not one.

instead of ll. 144-7:

Nay, frown not—chide not—but allow Pity to one so sorely tried: But I am calm—to fate I bow And all the storms of life abide.

instead of ll. 260-7:

THE HALL OF JUSTICE. ‘Original MS.’ readings given as footnotes in Life and Poems (1834).

Part I.

Instead of ll. 9-12:

What is my crime? a deed of love; I fed my child with pilfer’d food: Your laws will not the act approve, The law of Nature deems it good.

instead of ll. 43-6:

My years, indeed, are sad and few, Though weak these limbs, and shrunk this frame: For Grief has done what Time should do; And I am old in care and shame.

Part II.

instead of ll. 29-34:

Compell’d to feast in full delight When I was sad and wanted power, Can I forget that dismal night? Ah! how did I survive the hour?

instead of ll. 39-41:

And there my father-husband stood— I felt no words can tell you how— As he was wont in angry mood, And thus he cried, “Will God allow,

Preface: p. 92, l. 21. The following footnote to the words, His Dedication, was omitted in Vol. I: Neither of these were adopted. The author had written, about that time, some verses to the memory of Lord Robert Manners, brother to the late Duke of Rutland; and these, by a junction, it is presumed, not forced or unnatural, form the concluding part of “The Village.”

END OF VOL. II.

CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A., AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

Footnotes

[1] Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V. Scene 1.

[2] The reader will perceive in these and the preceding verses allusions to the state of France, as that country was circumstanced some years since, rather than as it appears to be in the present date; several years elapsing between the alarm of the loyal magistrate on the occasion now related, and a subsequent event that farther illustrates the remark with which the narrative commences.

[3] Allusion is here made, not to the well-known species of sumach, called the poison-oak, or toxicodendron, but to the upas, or poison-tree of Java; whether it be real or imaginary, this is no proper place for inquiry.

[4] This appellation is here used not ironically, nor with malignity; but it is taken merely to designate a morosely devout people, with peculiar austerity of manners.

[5] As the author’s purpose in this Tale may be mistaken, he wishes to observe, that conduct like that of the lady’s here described must be meritorious or censurable just as the motives to it are pure or selfish; that these motives may in a great measure be concealed from the mind of the agent; and that we often take credit to our virtue for actions which spring originally from our tempers, inclinations, or our indifference. It cannot therefore be improper, much less immoral, to give an instance of such self-deception.

[6] The ditches of a fen so near the ocean are lined with irregular patches of a coarse and stained lava; a muddy sediment rests on the horse-tail and other perennial herbs, which in part conceal the shallowness of the stream; a fat-leaved pale-flowering scurvy-grass appears early in the year, and the razor-edged bull-rush in the summer and autumn. The fen itself has a dark and saline herbage; there are rushes and arrow-head, and in a few patches the flakes of the cotton-grass are seen, but more commonly the sea-aster, the dullest of that numerous and hardy genus; a thrift, blue in flower, but withering and remaining withered till the winter scatters it; the saltwort, both simple and shrubby; a few kinds of grass changed by their soil and atmosphere, and low plants of two or three denominations undistinguished in a general view of the scenery;—such is the vegetation of the fen when it is at a small distance from the ocean; and in this case there arise from it effluvia strong and peculiar, half-saline, half-putrid, which would be considered by most people as offensive, and by some as dangerous; but there are others to whom singularity of taste or association of ideas has rendered it agreeable and pleasant.

[7] Fasil was a rebel chief, and Michael the general of the royal army in Abyssinia, when Mr. Bruce visited that country. In all other respects their characters were nearly similar. They are both represented as cruel and treacherous; and even the apparently strong distinction of loyal and rebellious is in a great measure set aside, when we are informed that Fasil was an open enemy, and Michael an insolent and ambitious controller of the royal person and family.

[8] The sovereign here meant is the Haroun Alraschid, or Harun al Rashid, who died early in the ninth century; he is often the hearer, and sometimes the hero, of a tale in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.

Transcriber's Notes:

Antiquated spellings have been preserved.

Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.

Where double quotes have been repeated at the beginnings of consecutive stanzas, they have been omitted for clarity.

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