1 their fairy colours? Ah! who has a after life, his friend and his compaheart so bold, that can look undaunt- nion. Even in her very name we ed upon the naked truth of life?- own her influence. Some call it amWho does not gladly withdraw his bition, others glory, others patriotaching sight from the dark waste of ism, others virtue; our vices too as mournful unadorned reality, and re- sume her garb. To me therefore it lieve its pains in the softened tints of has always appeared, that religion fancy? Yes! when man shall know, more frequently makes us unhappy why now he hopes, now fears, now than happy. Few minds receive trembles, now exults; when his mind comfort; few minds can receive comshall pierce the shadowing envelope- fort from it. Those who feel happy ments of passion, and trace his action under its influence deceive themselves; to its uncorrupted source; when he and they it is who try to deceive others. shall comprehend the links that bind If they are really happy, they owe it him to superior and inferior worlds, to their virtue, not to their religion. and spurning sense, spring aloft and They are like a man who, labouring view the mazy wheels of life; then, under an imaginary disease, receives and only then, shall he be able to an imaginary cure, and praises the scorn the soft allurements that hold virtue of an imaginary medicine. him now to existence, and tear off Go to the really diseased: go to him all the gawds and trappings that now who writhes beneath the agony of an surround it! accusing conscience: apply your speMan's greatest bliss depends upon cific: exhibit it in every form: exthose very illusions which, in the haust it; and then ask your trempride of reason, he often treats with bling patient how he feels? Woe to affected scorn and contumely. Error the man that shuts his heart to the in fact is the nurse of man, and, in replication! CRITICISM. "Nulli negabimus, nulli differemus justitiam." POEMS, by the Rev. GEORGE CRABBE, 1808. [Continued from Vol. x. p. 518.] HE the X. Among the various portraits that are produced, none please more than that of Isaac Ashford : Next to these Ladies, but in nought allied, A noble Peasant, Isaac Ashford, died. His Truth unquestion'd and his Soul serene: grace; third gister is devoted to the Burials; and here, where we expected most, we have been most disappointed. We looked for some of those tender delineations, those moral effusions, and that spirit of placid meditation with Truth, simple Truth, was written in his which the contemplation of mortality Yet while the serious Thought his Soul apFace; [prov'd, so naturally fills the heart. We hoped Cheerful he seem'd and Gentleness he lov'd: to find some affecting narrative, or To Bliss domestic he his Heart resign'd, some highly-wrought picture, which And with the firmest, had the fondest Mind : night please, even after the Grave of Were others joyful, he look'd smiling on, Blair. Why Mr. Crabbe has omitted And gave Allowance where he needed none; all that we looked for, we have no Good he refus'd with future Ill to buy, right to ask; for, in works of imagi- Nor knew a Joy that caus'd Reflection's nation, an author must consult his Sigh; genius, and not sign his own condemnation by an attempt beyond his powers. If motives like these operated upon Mr. Crabbe, his prudence deserves commendation, A Friend to Virtue, his unclouded Breast Mind, To miss one Favour, which their Neigh bours find :) Yet far was he from Stoic-pride remov'd; The still Tears, stealing down that furrow'd Spoke Pity, plainer than the Tongue can speak. If Pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar Pride, Who, in their base Contempt, the Great deride; Nor Pride in Learning, though my Clerk agreed, If Fate should call him, Ashford might succeed; Nor Pride in Rustic-skill, although we knew A Pride in honest Fame, by Virtue gain'd, "Why then this proud Reluctance to be fed, "To join your Poor and eat the Parishbread? "But yet I linger, loath with him to feed, “Who gains his Plenty by the Sons of Need; "He who, by Contract, all your Paupers took, "And guages stomachs with an anxious Look: "On some old Master I could well depend; "See him with joy and thank him as a Friend; "But ill on him, who doles the Day's Supply, "And counts our Chances, who at Night may die: "Yet help me Heav'n! and let me not complain "Of what befalls me, but the fate sustain." Such were his Thoughts, and so resign'd he grew; Daily he plac'd the Workhouse in his view! But came not there, for sudden was his Fate, He dropp'd expiring, at his Cottage-gate. I feel his Absence in the Hours of Prayer, And view his Seat and sigh for Isaac there; I see no more those white Locks thinly spread, Round the bald Polish of that honour'd Head; No more that awful Glance on playful To fold his Fingers all in dread the while, Nor the pure Faith (to give it force) are there: But he is blest and I lament no more, Natural and pathetic sentiments are but thinly scattered through this division of the poem ; yet both nature and pathos are to be found in the following lines, which paint the melancholy emotions that throng to the mind when returned from the burial of those we love, and are beholding those objects that once occupied their minds, or delighted their view. He no more!' Yet while he spake, a sly and pleasant Glance who has felt this distressing sensation; His Masters lost, he'd oft in turn deplore, he whose eye has moistened at the And kindly add, Heaven grant, I lose sight of the most insignificant bauble that once belonged to departed friendship or love; he who has sighed with sorrow and anguish as he looked upon the vacant chair that once they sat For, as he told their Fate and varying in, or noticed the neglected avocation Appear'd at variance with his Complai sance : Worth, forth.' that was once theirs, will immediate- He archly look'd, I yet may bear thee ly recognise the melancholy accuracy of the following lines: Arriv'd at Home, how then they gaz'd around, In ev'ry place, where she-no more, was found; The Seat at Table, she was wont to fill; The Fire-side Chair, still set, but vacant still; The Garden-walks, a Labour all her own; The Sunday-rew, she fill'd with all her "When first"(he so began)-" my Trade I ply'd, "Good Master Addle was the ParishGuide; "His Clerk and Sexton, I beheld with fear "His Stride majestic and his Frown severe; "A noble Pillar of the Church he stood, "Adorn'd with College-gown and Parishhood; . "Then, as he pac'd the hallow'd Aisles about, "He fill'd the sevenfold Surplice fairly Each place of hers, was now a sacred Place; to rise. Sent not to punish Mortals but to guide; To tell his MAKER, he has had his Share?) The story of Roger Cuff is well told, but might have been better introduced in the second part. The garrulous sexton, as it concludes the poem, may be extracted. My Record ends:-But hark! ev'n now 1 hear out: "He sat and seem'd as in his Study's Chair; "For while the Anthem swell'd and when it ceas'd, -Our Parson Peele "Th' expecting People view'd their slum- « Nor did he spare, but rais'd them many a Pound; "Ev'n me he mulct for my poor Rood of Ground; "Yet car'd he nought, but with a gibing speech, «What should I do,' quoth he, 'but what I preach?" The Bell of Death and know not whose to«His piercing Jokes (and he'd a plenteous "His Scorn, his Love, in playful Words he spoke; "His Pity, Praise, and Promise, were a "But though so young and blest with "What! he, himself!-and is old Dib-"The strong Attack subdu'd his lively "Liberal and rich, a plenteous Board he "It was his Nature, but they thought it spread, "Ev'n cool Dissenters at his Table fed; "A Way to Heaven, though not their own, might find; "To them, to all, he was polite and free, "Kind to the Poor, and, ah! most kind to me: "Ralph,' would he say, 'Ralph Dibble, thou art old; "That Doublet fit, 'twill keep thee from the Cold; "How does my Sexton?-What! the Times are hard; "Drive that stout Pig and pen him in thy Yard.' "But most, his Reverence lov'd a mirthful jest; "Thy Coat is thin; why, Man, thou'rt barely drest; "It's worn to th' Thread! but I have nappy Beer; "Clap that within and see how they will wear.' "Gay Days were these; but they were quickly past: "When first he came, we found he cou'dn't last : "An whoreson Cough (and at the Fall of Leaf) "Upset him quite :-but what's the Gain of Grief? "Then came the Author-Rector; his Delight "Was all in Books; to read them, or to write: "Women and Men, he strove alike to shun, "And hurried homeward when his Tasks were done: "Courteous enough, but careless what he said, "For Points of Learning he reserv'd his Head; "And when addressing either Poor or Rich, "He knew no better than his Cassock "He, like an Osier, was of pliant kind, "Careless was he of Surplice, Hood, and "And kindly took them as they came to hand; "Nor, like the Doctor, wore a World of "As if he sought for Dignity in that: Whim, "And so our Beaus and Beauties turn'd from him: "Of Questions, much he wrote, profound and dark, "How spake the Serpent, and where stopp'd the Ark; "From what far Land the Queen of Sheba came; "Who Salem's Priest, and what his Father's Name; "He made the Song of Songs its Myste ries yield, " And Revelations to the Word, reveal'd. "He sleeps i' the Aisle,-but not a Stone records "His Name or Fame, his Actions or his Words: "And, truth, your Reverence, when I look around, "And mark the Tombs in our Sepulchral Ground, "(Though dare I not of one Man's Hope to doubt,) "I'd join the Party who repose without. "Next came a Youth from Cambridge, "Such was his End; and mine ap proaches fast; "I've seen my best of Preachers,-and my last." He bow'd, and archly smil'd at what he said, Civil but sly:- And is old Dibble dead?' Yes! he is gone; and we are going all; Like Flowers we wither and like Leaves we fall : Here, with an Infant, joyful Sponsors come, Then bear the new-made Christian to its Home: A few short Years and we behold him stand To ask a Blessing, with his Bride in hand: A few, still seeming shorter, and we hear His Widow weeping at her Husband's Bier: Thus, as the Months succeed, shall Infants The next poem is the Library, which was published five and twenty years ago, and does not therefore demand from us that specific notice which it is our province to bestow only on new productions. The conception was happy, but it has not been employed with all that amplitude which would have afforded a wider scope for variety, for instructive observation, and for amusement. It might have been enlivened too by the introduction of character. It is not, however, without merit; and it has, in particular, the excellence of smooth versification, and a plain propriety of observation. The best executed part is where the poet turns to the shelf of medical books : Whilst thus engaged, high Views enlarge the Soul, New Interests draw, new Principles con troul; Nor thus the Soul alone resigns her Grief, But here the tortur'd Body finds Relief; For see where yonder sage Arachnè shapes Her subtile Gin, that not a Fly escapes! There PHYSIC fill the Space, and far a round, Pile above pile, her learned Works abound; Glorious their Aim-to ease the labouring Heart, To war with Death and stop his flying Dart; |