Miscellaneous Poems | Page 4

George Crabbe
think of joys again;?And when his earthly visions droop,?His views of heavenly kind remain:?But whence that meek and humbled strain,?That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd??Would not so proud a soul disdain?The madness of the poorest mind?
PHYSICIAN.
No! for the more he swell'd with pride,?The more he felt misfortune's blow;?Disgrace and grief he could not hide,?And poverty had laid him low:?Thus shame and sorrow working slow,?At length this humble spirit gave;?Madness on these began to grow,?And bound him to his fiends a slave.
Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain,?Then was he free: --So, forth he ran;?To soothe or threat, alike were vain:?He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan;?Year after year, the hurried man?Obey'd those fiends from place to place;?Till his religious change began?To form a frenzied child of grace.
For, as the fury lost its strength,?The mind reposed; by slow degrees?Came lingering hope, and brought at length,?To the tormented spirit, ease:?This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize,?Felt or believed their power had end: -?"'Tis faith," he cried, "my bosom frees,?And now my SAVIOUR is my friend."
But ah! though time can yield relief,?And soften woes it cannot cure;?Would we not suffer pain and grief,?To have our reason sound and sure??Then let us keep our bosoms pure,?Our fancy's favourite flights suppress;?Prepare the body to endure,?And bend the mind to meet distress;?And then HIS guardian care implore,?Whom demons dread and men adore.
"THE HALL OF JUSTICE",?IN TWO PARTS.
PART I.
Confiteor facere hoc annos; sed et altera causa est,?Anxietas animi, continuusque dolor.
OVID.
-------------------
MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABLE, &c.
VAGRANT.
Take, take away thy barbarous hand,?And let me to thy Master speak;?Remit awhile the harsh command,?And hear me, or my heart will break.
MAGISTRATE.
Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,?But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin??Thy crime is proved, thou know'st thy fate;?But come, thy tale!--begin, begin! -
VAGRANT.
My crime!--This sick'ning child to feed.?I seized the food, your witness saw;?I knew your laws forbade the deed,?But yielded to a stronger law.
Know'st thou, to Nature's great command?All human laws are frail and weak??Nay! frown not--stay his eager hand,?And hear me, or my heart will break.
In this, th' adopted babe I hold?With anxious fondness to my breast,?My heart's sole comfort I behold,?More dear than life, when life was blest;?I saw her pining, fainting, cold,?I begg'd--but vain was my request.
I saw the tempting food, and seized -?My infant-sufferer found relief;?And in the pilfer'd treasure pleased,?Smiled on my guilt, and hush'd my grief.
But I have griefs of other kind,?Troubles and sorrows more severe;?Give me to ease my tortured mind,?Lend to my woes a patient ear;?And let me--if I may not find?A friend to help--find one to hear.
Yet nameless let me plead--my name?Would only wake the cry of scorn;?A child of sin, conceived in shame,?Brought forth in woe, to misery born.
My mother dead, my father lost,?I wander'd with a vagrant crew;?A common care, a common cost;?Their sorrows and their sins I knew;?With them, by want on error forced,?Like them, I base and guilty grew.
Few are my years, not so my crimes;?The age which these sad looks declare,?Is Sorrow's work, it is not Time's,?And I am old in shame and care.
Taught to believe the world a place?Where every stranger was a foe,?Train'd in the arts that mark our race,?To what new people could I go??Could I a better life embrace,?Or live as virtue dictates? No! -
So through the land I wandering went,?And little found of grief or joy;?But lost my bosom's sweet content?When first I loved the Gipsy-Boy.
A sturdy youth he was and tall,?His looks would all his soul declare;?His piercing eyes were deep and small,?And strongly curl'd his raven-hair.
Yes, AARON had each manly charm,?All in the May of youthful pride,?He scarcely fear'd his father's arm,?And every other arm defied. -
Oft, when they grew in anger warm,?(Whom will not love and power divide?)?I rose, their wrathful souls to calm,?Not yet in sinful combat tried.
His father was our party's chief,?And dark and dreadful was his look;?His presence fill'd my heart with grief,?Although to me he kindly spoke.
With Aaron I delighted went,?His favour was my bliss and pride;?In growing hope our days we spent,?Love's growing charms in either spied;?It saw them all which Nature lent,?It lent them all which she denied.
Could I the father's kindness prize,?Or grateful looks on him bestow,?Whom I beheld in wrath arise,?When Aaron sunk beneath his blow?
He drove him down with wicked hand,?It was a dreadful sight to see;?Then vex'd him, till he left the land,?And told his cruel love to me;?The clan were all at his command,?Whatever his
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