Tales by George Crabbe Part 6

She--O Susannah!--to the world belongs; She loves the follies of its idle throngs, And reads soft tales of love, and sings love's soft'ning songs.

But, as our friend is yet delay'd in town, We must prepare her till the Youth comes down: You shall advise the maiden; I will threat; Her fears and hopes may yield us comfort yet."

Now the grave father took the la.s.s aside, Demanding sternly, "Wilt thou be a bride?"

She answer'd, calling up an air sedate, "I have not vow'd against the holy state."

"No folly, Sybil," said the parent; "know What to their parents virtuous maidens owe: A worthy, wealthy youth, whom I approve, Must thou prepare to honour and to love.

Formal to thee his air and dress may seem, But the good youth is worthy of esteem: Shouldst thou with rudeness treat him; of disdain Should he with justice or of slight complain, Or of one taunting speech give certain proof, Girl! I reject thee from my sober roof."

"My aunt," said Sybil," will with pride protect One whom a father can for this reject; Nor shall a formal, rigid, soul-less boy My manners alter, or my views destroy!"

Jonas then lifted up his hands on high, And, utt'ring something 'twixt a groan and sigh, Left the determined maid, her doubtful mother by.

"Hear me," she said; "incline thy heart, my child, And fix thy fancy on a man so mild: Thy father, Sybil, never could be moved By one who loved him, or by one he loved.

Union like ours is but a bargain made By slave and tyrant--he will be obey'd; Then calls the quiet, comfort--but thy Youth Is mild by nature, and as frank as truth."

"But will he love?" said Sybil; "I am told That these mild creatures are by nature cold."

"Alas!" the matron answer'd, "much I dread That dangerous love by which the young are led!

That love is earthy; you the creature prize, And trust your feelings and believe your eyes: Can eyes and feelings inward worth descry?

No! my fair daughter, on our choice rely!

Your love, like that display'd upon the stage, Indulged is folly, and opposed is rage; - More prudent love our sober couples show, All that to mortal beings, mortals owe; All flesh is gra.s.s--before you give a heart, Remember, Sybil, that in death you part; And should your husband die before your love, What needless anguish must a widow prove!

No! my fair child, let all such visions cease; Yield but esteem, and only try for peace."

"I must be loved," said Sybil; "I must see The man in terrors who aspires to me; At my forbidding frown his heart must ache, His tongue must falter, and his frame must shake: And if I grant him at my feet to kneel, What trembling, fearful pleasure must he feel; Nay, such the raptures that my smiles inspire, That reason's self must for a time retire."

"Alas! for good Josiah," said the dame, "These wicked thoughts would fill his soul with shame; He kneel and tremble at a thing of dust!

He cannot, child:"--the Child replied, "He must."

They ceased: the matron left her with a frown; So Jonas met her when the Youth came down: "Behold," said he, "thy future spouse attends; Receive him, daughter, as the best of friends; Observe, respect him--humble be each word, That welcomes home thy husband and thy lord."

Forewarn'd, thought Sybil, with a bitter smile, I shall prepare my manner and my style.

Ere yet Josiah enter'd on his task, The father met him--"Deign to wear a mask A few dull days, Josiah--but a few - It is our duty, and the s.e.x's due; I wore it once, and every grateful wife Repays it with obedience through her life: Have no regard to Sybil's dress, have none To her pert language, to her flippant tone: Henceforward thou shalt rule unquestion'd and alone; And she thy pleasure in thy looks shall seek - How she shall dress, and whether she may speak."

A sober smile returned the Youth, and said, "Can I cause fear, who am myself afraid?"

Sybil, meantime, sat thoughtful in her room, And often wonder'd--"Will the creature come?

Nothing shall tempt, shall force me to bestow My hand upon him,--yet I wish to know."

The door unclosed, and she beheld her sire Lead in the Youth, then hasten to retire; "Daughter, my friend--my daughter, friend," he cried, And gave a meaning look, and stepp'd aside: That look contained a mingled threat and prayer, "Do take him, child,--offend him if you dare."

The couple gazed--were silent, and the maid Look'd in his face, to make the man afraid; The man, unmoved, upon the maiden cast A steady view--so salutation pa.s.s'd: But in this instant Sybil's eye had seen The tall fair person, and the still staid mien; The glow that temp'rance o'er the cheek had spread, Where the soft down half veil'd the purest red; And the serene deportment that proclaim'd A heart unspotted, and a life unblamed: But then with these she saw attire too plain, The pale brown coat, though worn without a stain; The formal air, and something of the pride That indicates the wealth it seems to hide; And looks that were not, she conceived, exempt From a proud pity, or a sly contempt.

Josiah's eyes had their employment too, Engaged and soften'd by so bright a view; A fair and meaning face, an eye of fire, That check'd the bold, and made the free retire: But then with these he marked the studied dress And lofty air, that scorn or pride express; With that insidious look, that seem'd to hide In an affected smile the scorn and pride; And if his mind the virgin's meaning caught, He saw a foe with treacherous purpose fraught - Captive the heart to take, and to reject it, caught.

Silent they sat--thought Sybil, that he seeks Something, no doubt; I wonder if he speaks: Scarcely she wonder'd, when these accents fell Slow in her ear--"Fair maiden, art thou well?"

"Art thou physician?" she replied; "my hand, My pulse, at least, shall be at thy command."

She said--and saw, surprised, Josiah kneel, And gave his lips the offer'd pulse to feel; The rosy colour rising in her cheek, Seem'd that surprise unmix'd with wrath to speak; Then sternness she a.s.sumed, and--"Doctor, tell; Thy words cannot alarm me--am I well?"

"Thou art," said he; "and yet thy dress so light, I do conceive, some danger must excite:"

"In whom?" said Sybil, with a look demure: "In more," said he, "than I expect to cure; - I, in thy light luxuriant robe behold Want and excess, abounding and yet cold; Here needed, there display'd, in many a wanton fold; Both health and beauty, learned authors show, From a just medium in our clothing flow."

"Proceed, good doctor; if so great my need, What is thy fee? Good doctor! pray proceed."

"Large is my fee, fair lady, but I take None till some progress in my cure I make: Thou hast disease, fair maiden; thou art vain; Within that face sit insult and disdain; Thou art enamour'd of thyself; my art Can see the naughty malice of thy heart: With a strong pleasure would thy bosom move, Were I to own thy power, and ask thy love; And such thy beauty, damsel, that I might, But for thy pride, feel danger in thy sight, And lose my present peace in dreams of vain delight."

"And can thy patients," said the nymph "endure Physic like this? and will it work a cure?"

"Such is my hope, fair damsel; thou, I find, Hast the true tokens of a n.o.ble mind; But the world wins thee, Sybil, and thy joys Are placed in trifles, fashions, follies, toys; Thou hast sought pleasure in the world around, That in thine own pure bosom should be found; Did all that world admire thee, praise and love, Could it the least of nature's pains remove?

Could it for errors, follies, sins atone, Or give the comfort, thoughtful and alone?

It has, believe me, maid, no power to charm Thy soul from sorrow, or thy flesh from harm: Turn then, fair creature, from a world of sin, And seek the jewel happiness within."

"Speak'st thou at meeting?" said the nymph; "thy speech Is that of mortal very p.r.o.ne to teach; But wouldst thou, doctor, from the patient learn Thine own disease?--the cure is thy concern."

"Yea, with good will."--"Then know 'tis thy complaint, That, for a sinner, thou'rt too much a saint; Hast too much show of the sedate and pure, And without cause art formal and demure: This makes a man unsocial, unpolite; Odious when wrong, and insolent if right.

Thou mayst be good, but why should goodness be Wrapt in a garb of such formality?

Thy person well might please a damsel's eye, In decent habit with a scarlet dye; But, jest apart--what virtue canst thou trace In that broad brim that hides thy sober face?

Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice?

Then for thine accent--what in sound can be So void of grace as dull monotony?

Love has a thousand varied notes to move The human heart: --thou mayest not speak of love Till thou hast cast thy formal ways aside, And those becoming youth and nature tried: Not till exterior freedom, spirit, ease, Prove it thy study and delight to please; Not till these follies meet thy just disdain, While yet thy virtues and thy worth remain."

"This is severe!--Oh! maiden wilt not thou Something for habits, manners, modes, allow?" - "Yes! but allowing much, I much require, In my behalf, for manners, modes, attire!"

"True, lovely Sybil; and, this point agreed, Let me to those of greater weight proceed: Thy father!"--"Nay," she quickly interposed, "Good doctor, here our conference is closed!"

Then left the Youth, who, lost in his retreat, Pa.s.s'd the good matron on her garden-seat; His looks were troubled, and his air, once mild And calm, was hurried: --"My audacious child!"

Exclaim'd the dame, "I read what she has done In thy displeasure--Ah! the thoughtless one: But yet, Josiah, to my stern good man Speak of the maid as mildly as you can: Can you not seem to woo a little while The daughter's will, the father to beguile?

So that his wrath in time may wear away; Will you preserve our peace, Josiah? say."

"Yes! my good neighbour," said the gentle youth, "Rely securely on my care and truth; And should thy comfort with my efforts cease, And only then,--perpetual is thy peace."

The dame had doubts: she well his virtues knew, His deeds were friendly, and his words were true: "But to address this vixen is a task He is ashamed to take, and I to ask."

Soon as the father from Josiah learn'd What pa.s.s'd with Sybil, he the truth discern'd.

"He loves," the man exclaim'd, "he loves, 'tis plain, The thoughtless girl, and shall he love in vain?

She may be stubborn, but she shall be tried, Born as she is of wilfulness and pride."

With anger fraught, but willing to persuade, The wrathful father met the smiling maid: "Sybil," said he, "I long, and yet I dread To know thy conduct--hath Josiah fled?

And, grieved and fretted by thy scornful air, For his lost peace, betaken him to prayer?

Couldst thou his pure and modest mind distress By vile remarks upon his speech, address, Attire, and voice?"--"All this I must confess."

"Unhappy child! what labour will it cost To win him back!"--"I do not think him lost."

"Courts he then (trifler!) insult and disdain?" - "No; but from these he courts me to refrain."

"Then hear me, Sybil: should Josiah leave Thy father's house?"--"My father's child would grieve."

"That is of grace, and if he come again To speak of love?"--"I might from grief refrain."

"Then wilt thou, daughter, our design embrace?" - "Can I resist it, if it be of Grace?"

"Dear child in three plain words thy mind express: Wilt thou have this good youth?"--"Dear Father! yes."

TALE VII.

THE WIDOW'S TALE.

Ah me! for aught that I could ever read, Or ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth: But either it was different in blood, Or else misgrafted in respect of years, Or else it stood upon the choice of friends; Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it.

SHAKESPEARE, Midsummer Night's Dream.

Oh! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily, If thou rememberest not the slighest folly That ever love did make thee run into.

As You Like It.

Cry the man mercy! love him, take his offer.

As You Like It.

To Farmer Moss, in Langar Vale, came down, His only daughter, from her school in town; A tender, timid maid! who knew not how To pa.s.s a pig-sty, or to face a cow: Smiling she came, with petty talents graced, A fair complexion, and a slender waist.

Used to spare meals, disposed in manner pure, Her father's kitchen she could ill endure: Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat, And laid at once a pound upon his plate; Hot from the field, her eager brother seized An equal part, and hunger's rage appeased; The air surcharged with moisture, flagg'd around, And the offended damsel sigh'd and frown'd; The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid, And fancy's sickness seized the loathing maid: But when the men beside their station took, The maidens with them, and with these the cook; When one huge wooden bowl before them stood, Fill'd with huge b.a.l.l.s of farinaceous food; With bacon, ma.s.s saline, where never lean Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen; When from a single horn the party drew Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new; When the coa.r.s.e cloth she saw, with many a stain Soil'd by rude hinds who cut and came again - She could not breathe; but with a heavy sigh, Rein'd the fair neck, and shut th' offended eye; She minced the sanguine flesh in frustums fine, And wonder'd much to see the creatures dine; When she resolved her father's heart to move, If hearts of farmers were alive to love.

She now entreated by herself to sit In the small parlour, if papa thought fit, And there to dine, to read, to work alone - "No!" said the Farmer in an angry tone; "These are your school-taught airs; your mother's pride Would send you there; but I am now your guide. - Arise betimes, our early meal prepare, And, this despatch'd, let business be your care; Look to the la.s.ses, let there not be one Who lacks attention, till her tasks be done; In every household work your portion take, And what you make not, see that others make: At leisure times attend the wheel, and see The whit'ning web besprinkled on the lea; When thus employ'd, should our young neighbours view, A useful la.s.s,--you may have more to do."

Dreadful were these commands; but worse than these The parting hint--a Farmer could not please: 'Tis true she had without abhorrence seen Young Harry Carr, when he was smart and clean: But, to be married--be a farmer's wife - A slave! a drudge!--she could not for her life.

With swimming eyes the fretful nymph withdrew, And, deeply sighing, to her chamber flew; There on her knees, to Heaven she grieving pray'd For change of prospect to a tortured maid.

Harry, a youth whose late-departed sire Had left him all industrious men require, Saw the pale Beauty,--and her shape and air Engaged him much, and yet he must forbear: "For my small farm what can the damsel do?"

He said,--then stopp'd to take another view: "Pity so sweet a la.s.s will nothing learn Of household cares,--for what can beauty earn By those small arts which they at school attain, That keep them useless, and yet make them vain?"

This luckless Damsel look'd the village round, To find a friend, and one was quickly found: A pensive Widow, whose mild air and dress Pleased the sad nymph, who wish'd her soul's distress To one so seeming kind, confiding, to confess.

"What Lady that?" the anxious la.s.s inquired, Who then beheld the one she most admired: "Here," said the Brother, "are no ladies seen - That is a widow dwelling on the Green; A dainty dame, who can but barely live On her poor pittance, yet contrives to give; She happier days has known, but seems at ease, And you may call her lady if you please: But if you wish, good sister, to improve, You shall see twenty better worth your love."

These Nancy met; but, spite of all they taught, This useless Widow was the one she sought: The father growl'd; but said he knew no harm In such connexion that could give alarm; "And if we thwart the trifler in her course, 'Tis odds against us she will take a worse."

Then met the friends; the Widow heard the sigh That ask'd at once compa.s.sion and reply: - "Would you, my child, converse with one so poor, Yours were the kindness--yonder is my door: And, save the time that we in public pray, From that poor cottage I but rarely stray."

There went the nymph, and made her strong complaints, Painting her woe as injured feeling paints.

"Oh, dearest friend! do think how one must feel, Shock'd all day long, and sicken'd every meal; Could you behold our kitchen (and to you A scene so shocking must indeed be new), A mind like yours, with true refinement graced, Would let no vulgar scenes pollute your taste: And yet, in truth, from such a polish'd mind All base ideas must resistance find, And sordid pictures from the fancy pa.s.s, As the breath startles from the polish'd gla.s.s.

"Here you enjoy a sweet romantic scene, Without so pleasant, and within so clean; These twining jess'mines, what delicious gloom And soothing fragrance yield they to the room!

What lovely garden! there you oft retire, And tales of woe and tenderness admire.