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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395894" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tale VII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE WIDOW'S TALE.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Farmer Moss, in Langar Vale, came down,<br>His only daughter, from her school in town;<br>A tender, timid maid! who knew not how<br>To pass a pig-sty, or to face a cow:<br>Smiling she came, with petty talents graced,<br>A fair complexion, and a slender waist.<br>Used to spare meals, disposed in manner pure,<br>Her father's kitchen she could ill endure:<br>Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat,<br>And laid at once a pound upon his plate;<br>Hot from the field, her eager brother seized<br>An equal part, and hunger's rage appeased;<br>The air surcharged with moisture, flagg'd around,<br>And the offended damsel sigh'd and frown'd;<br>The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid,<br>And fancy's sickness seized the loathing maid:<br>But when the men beside their station took,<br>The maidens with them, and with these the cook;<br>When one huge wooden bowl before them stood,<br>Fill'd with huge balls of farinaceous food;<br>With bacon, mass saline, where never lean<br>Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen;<br>When from a single horn the party drew<br>Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new;<br>When the coarse cloth she saw, with many a stain<br>Soil'd by rude hinds who cut and came again -<br>She could not breathe; but with a heavy sigh,<br>Rein'd the fair neck, and shut th' offended eye;<br>She minced the sanguine flesh in frustums fine,<br>And wonder'd much to see the creatures dine;<br>When she resolved her father's heart to move,<br>If hearts of farmers were alive to love.<br>She now entreated by herself to sit<br>In the small parlour, if papa thought fit,<br>And there to dine, to read, to work alone -<br>'No!' said the Farmer in an angry tone;<br>'These are your school-taught airs; your mother's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">pride<br>Would send you there; but I am now your guide. -<br>Arise betimes, our early meal prepare,<br>And, this despatch'd, let business be your care;<br>Look to the lasses, let there not be one<br>Who lacks attention, till her tasks be done;<br>In every household work your portion take,<br>And what you make not, see that others make:<br>At leisure times attend the wheel, and see<br>The whit'ning web besprinkled on the lea;<br>When thus employ'd, should our young neighbours </div><div style="margin:10px 0">view,<br>A useful lass,--you may have more to do.'<br>Dreadful were these commands; but worse than </div><div style="margin:10px 0">these<br>The parting hint--a Farmer could not please:<br>'Tis true she had without abhorrence seen<br>Young Harry Carr, when he was smart and clean:<br>But, to be married--be a farmer's wife -<br>A slave! a drudge!--she could not for her life.<br>With swimming eyes the fretful nymph withdrew,<br>And, deeply sighing, to her chamber flew;<br>There on her knees, to Heaven she grieving pray'd<br>For change of prospect to a tortured maid.<br>Harry, a youth whose late-departed sire<br>Had left him all industrious men require,<br>Saw the pale Beauty,--and her shape and air<br>Engaged him much, and yet he must forbear:<br>'For my small farm what can the damsel do?'<br>He said,--then stopp'd to take another view:<br>'Pity so sweet a lass will nothing learn<br>Of household cares,--for what can beauty earn<br>By those small arts which they at school attain,<br>That keep them useless, and yet make them vain?'<br>This luckless Damsel look'd the village round,<br>To find a friend, and one was quickly found:<br>A pensive Widow, whose mild air and dress<br>Pleased the sad nymph, who wish'd her soul's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">distress<br>To one so seeming kind, confiding, to confess.<br>'What Lady that?' the anxious lass inquired,<br>Who then beheld the one she most admired:<br>'Here,' said the Brother, 'are no ladies seen -<br>That is a widow dwelling on the Green;<br>A dainty dame, who can but barely live<br>On her poor pittance, yet contrives to give;<br>She happier days has known, but seems at ease,<br>And you may call her lady if you please:<br>But if you wish, good sister, to improve,<br>You shall see twenty better worth your love.'<br>These Nancy met; but, spite of all they taught,<br>This useless Widow was the one she sought:<br>The father growl'd; but said he knew no harm<br>In such connexion that could give alarm;<br>'And if we thwart the trifler in her course,<br>'Tis odds against us she will take a worse.'<br>Then met the friends; the Widow heard the sigh<br>That ask'd at once compassion and reply: -<br>'Would you, my child, converse with one so poor,<br>Yours were the kindness--yonder is my door:<br>And, save the time that we in public pray,<br>From that poor cottage I but rarely stray.'<br>There went the nymph, and made her strong </div><div style="margin:10px 0">complaints,<br>Painting her woe as injured feeling paints.<br>'Oh, dearest friend! do think how one must feel,<br>Shock'd all day long, and sicken'd every meal;<br>Could you behold our kitchen (and to you<br>A scene so shocking must indeed be new),<br>A mind like yours, with true refinement graced,<br>Would let no vulgar scenes pollute your taste:<br>And yet, in truth, from such a polish'd mind<br>All base ideas must resistance find,<br>And sordid pictures from the fancy pass,<br>As the breath startles from the polish'd glass.<br>'Here you enjoy a sweet romantic scene,<br>Without so pleasant, and within so clean;<br>These twining jess'mines, what delicious gloom<br>And soothing fragrance yield they to the room!<br>What lovely garden! there you oft retire,<br>And tales of woe and tenderness admire.<br>In that neat case your books, in order placed,<br>Soothe the full soul, and charm the cultur'd taste;<br>And thus, while all about you wears a charm,<br>How must you scorn the Farmer and the Farm!'<br>The Widow smiled, and 'Know you not,' said she,<br>'How much these farmers scorn or pity me;<br>Who see what you admire, and laugh at all they see?<br>True, their opinion alters not my fate,<br>By falsely judging of an humble state:<br>This garden you with such delight behold,<br>Tempts not a feeble dame who dreads the cold;<br>These plants which please so well your livelier </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sense,<br>To mine but little of their sweets dispense:<br>Books soon are painful to my failing sight,<br>And oftener read from duty than delight;<br>(Yet let me own, that I can sometimes find<br>Both joy and duty in the act combined<br>But view me rightly, you will see no more<br>Than a poor female, willing to be poor;<br>Happy indeed, but not in books nor flowers,<br>Not in fair dreams, indulged in earlier hours,<br>Of never-tasted joys;--such visions shun,<br>My youthful friend, nor scorn the Farmer's Son.'<br>'Nay,' said the Damsel, nothing pleased to see<br>A friend's advice could like a Father's be,<br>'Bless'd in your cottage, you must surely smile<br>At those who live in our detested style:<br>To my Lucinda's sympathising heart<br>Could I my prospects and my griefs impart;,<br>She would console me; but I dare not show,<br>Ills that would wound her tender soul to know:<br>And I confess, it shocks my pride to tell<br>The secrets of the prison where I dwell;<br>For that dear maiden would be shock'd to feel<br>The secrets I should shudder to reveal;<br>When told her friend was by a parent ask'd,<br>'Fed you the swine?'--Good heaven! how I am task'd! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">-<br>What! can you smile? Ah! smile not at the grief<br>That woos your pity and demands relief.'<br>'Trifles, my love: you take a false alarm;<br>Think, I beseech you, better of the Farm:<br>Duties in every state demand your care,<br>And light are those that will require it there.<br>Fix on the Youth a favouring eye, and these,<br>To him pertaining, or as his, will please.'<br>'What words,' the Lass replied, 'offend my ear!<br>Try you my patience? Can you be sincere?<br>And am I told a willing hand to give<br>To a rude farmer, and with rustics live?<br>Far other fate was yours;--some gentle youth<br>Admir'd your beauty, and avow'd his truth;<br>The power of love prevail'd, and freely both<br>Gave the fond heart, and pledged the binding oath;<br>And then the rival's plot, the parent's power,<br>And jealous fears, drew on the happy hour:<br>Ah! let not memory lose the blissful view,<br>But fairly show what love has done for you.'<br>'Agreed, my daughter; what my heart has known<br>Of Love's strange power, shall be with frankness </div><div style="margin:10px 0">shown:<br>But let me warn you, that experience finds<br>Few of the scenes that lively hope designs.'<br>'Mysterious all,' said Nancy; 'you, I know,<br>Have suffered much; now deign the grief to show, -<br>I am your friend, and so prepare my heart<br>In all your sorrows to receive a part.'<br>The Widow answer'd: 'I had once, like you,<br>Such thoughts of love; no dream is more untrue;<br>You judge it fated, and decreed to dwell<br>In youthful hearts, which nothing can expel,<br>A passion doom'd to reign, and irresistible.<br>The struggling mind, when once subdued, in vain<br>Rejects the fury or defies the pain;<br>The strongest reason fails the flames t'allay,<br>And resolution droops and faints away:<br>Hence, when the destined lovers meet, they prove<br>At once the force of this all-powerful love;<br>Each from that period feels the mutual smart,<br>Nor seeks to cure it--heart is changed for heart;<br>Nor is there peace till they delighted stand,<br>And, at the altar--hand is join'd to hand.<br>'Alas! my child, there are who, dreaming so,<br>Waste their fresh youth, and waking feel the woe.<br>There is no spirit sent the heart to move<br>With such prevailing and alarming love;<br>Passion to reason will submit--or why<br>Should wealthy maids the poorest swains deny?<br>Or how could classes and degrees create<br>The slightest bar to such resistless fate?<br>Yet high and low, you see, forbear to mix;<br>No beggars' eyes the heart of kings transfix;<br>And who but am'rous peers or nobles sigh,<br>When titled beauties pass triumphant by?<br>For reason wakes, proud wishes to reprove;<br>You cannot hope, and therefore dare not love;<br>All would be safe, did we at first inquire -<br>'Does reason sanction what our hearts desire?'<br>But quitting precept, let example show<br>What joys from Love uncheck'd by prudence flow.<br>'A Youth my father in his office placed,<br>Of humble fortune, but with sense and taste;<br>But he was thin and pale, had downcast looks:<br>He studied much, and pored upon his books:<br>Confused he was when seen, and when he saw<br>Me or my sisters, would in haste withdraw;<br>And had this youth departed with the year,<br>His loss had cost us neither sigh nor tear.<br>'But with my father still the youth remain'd,<br>And more reward and kinder notice gain'd:<br>He often, reading, to the garden stray'd,<br>Where I by books or musing was delay'd;<br>This to discourse in summer evenings led,<br>Of these same evenings, or of what we read:<br>On such occasions we were much alone;<br>But, save the look, the manner, and the tone,<br>(These might have meaning,) all that we discuss'd<br>We could with pleasure to a parent trust.<br>'At length 'twas friendship--and my Friend and I<br>Said we were happy, and began to sigh;<br>My sisters first, and then my father, found<br>That we were wandering o'er enchanted ground:<br>But he had troubles in his own aifairs,<br>And would not bear addition to his cares:<br>With pity moved, yet angry, 'Child,' said he,<br>'Will you embrace contempt and beggary?'<br>Can you endure to see each other cursed<br>By want, of every human woe the worst?<br>Warring for ever with distress, in dread<br>Either of begging or of wanting bread;<br>While poverty, with unrelenting force,<br>Will your own offspring from your love divorce;<br>They, through your folly, must be doom'd to pine,<br>And you deplore your passion, or resign;<br>For if it die, what good will then remain?<br>And if it live, it doubles every pain.''<br>'But you were true,' exclaim'd the Lass,' and </div><div style="margin:10px 0">fled<br>The tyrant's power who fill'd your soul with </div><div style="margin:10px 0">dread?'<br>'But,' said the smiling Friend, 'he fill'd my mouth </div><div style="margin:10px 0">with bread:<br>And in what other place that bread to gain<br>We long consider'd, and we sought in vain:<br>This was my twentieth year,--at thirty-five<br>Our hope was fainter, yet our love alive;<br>So many years in anxious doubt had pass'd.'<br>'Then,' said the Damsel, 'you were bless'd at </div><div style="margin:10px 0">last?'<br>A smile again adorn'd the Widow's face,<br>But soon a starting tear usurp'd its place.<br>'Slow pass'd the heavy years, and each had more<br>Pains and vexations than the years before.<br>My father fail'd; his family was rent,<br>And to new states his grieving daughters sent:<br>Each to more thriving kindred found a way,<br>Guests without welcome,--servants without pay;<br>Our parting hour was grievous; still I feel<br>The sad, sweet converse at our final meal;<br>Our father then reveal'd his former fears,<br>Cause of his sternness, and then join'd our tears:<br>Kindly he strove our feelings to repress,<br>But died, and left us heirs to his distress.<br>The rich, as humble friends, my sisters chose;<br>I with a wealthy widow sought repose;<br>Who with a chilling frown her friend received,<br>Bade me rejoice, and wonder'd that I grieved:<br>In vain my anxious lover tried his skill,<br>To rise in life, he was dependent still:<br>We met in grief, nor can I paint the fears<br>Of these unhappy, troubled, trying years:<br>Our dying hopes and stronger fears between,<br>We felt no season peaceful or serene;<br>Our fleeting joys, like meteors in the night,<br>Shone on our gloom with inauspicious light;<br>And then domestic sorrows, till the mind,<br>Worn with distresses, to despair inclined;<br>Add too the ill that from the passion flows,<br>When its contemptuous frown the world bestows,<br>The peevish spirit caused by long delay,<br>When, being gloomy, we contemn the gay,<br>When, being wretched, we incline to hate<br>And censure others in a happier state;<br>Yet loving still, and still compell'd to move<br>In the sad labyrinth of lingering love:<br>While you, exempt from want, despair, alarm,<br>May wed--oh! take the Farmer and the Farm.'<br>'Nay,' said the nymph, 'joy smiled on you at </div><div style="margin:10px 0">last?'<br>'Smiled for a moment,' she replied, 'and pass'd:<br>My lover still the same dull means pursued,<br>Assistant call'd, but kept in servitude;<br>His spirits wearied in the prime of life,<br>By fears and wishes in eternal strife;<br>At length he urged impatient--'Now consent;<br>With thee united, Fortune may relent.'<br>I paused, consenting; but a Friend arose,<br>Pleased a fair view, though distant, to disclose;<br>From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam<br>Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream;<br>By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired,<br>And sail'd--was wounded--reach'd us--and expired!<br>You shall behold his grave; and when I die,<br>There--but 'tis folly--I request to lie.'<br>'Thus,' said the lass, 'to joy you bade adieu!<br>But how a widow?--that cannot be true:<br>Or was it force, in some unhappy hour,<br>That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant's power?'<br>'Force, my young friend, when forty years are </div><div style="margin:10px 0">fled,<br>Is what a woman seldom has to dread;<br>She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls,<br>And seldom comes a lover though she calls:<br>Yet, moved by fancy, one approved my face,<br>Though time and tears had wrought it much disgrace.<br>'The man I married was sedate and meek,<br>And spoke of love as men in earnest speak;<br>Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought for years,<br>A heart in sorrow and a face in tears:<br>That heart I gave not; and 'twas long before<br>I gave attention, and then nothing more:<br>But in my breast some grateful feeling rose,<br>For one whose love so sad a subject chose;<br>Till long delaying, fearing to repent,<br>But grateful still, I gave a cold assent.<br>Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find,<br>And he but one: my heart could not be kind:<br>Alas! of every early hope bereft,<br>There was no fondness in my bosom left;<br>So had I told him, but had told in vain,<br>He lived but to indulge me and complain:<br>His was this cottage; he inclosed this ground.<br>And planted all these blooming shrubs around;<br>He to my room these curious trifles brought,<br>And with assiduous love my pleasure sought;<br>He lived to please me, and I ofttimes strove,<br>Smiling, to thank his unrequited love:<br>'Teach me,' he cried, 'that pensive mind to ease,<br>For all my pleasure is the hope to please.'<br>Serene though heavy, were the days we spent,<br>Yet kind each word, and gen'rous each intent;<br>But his dejection lessen'd every day,<br>And to a placid kindness died away:<br>In tranquil ease we pass'd our latter years,<br>By griefs untroubled, unassail'd by fears.<br>Let not romantic views your bosom sway;<br>Yield to your duties, and their call obey:<br>Fly not a Youth, frank, honest, and sincere;<br>Observe his merits, and his passion hear!<br>'Tis true, no hero, but a farmer, sues -<br>Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views;<br>With him you cannot that affliction prove,<br>That rends the bosom of the poor in love:<br>Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful days,<br>Your friends' approval, and your father's praise,<br>Will crown the deed, and you escape their fate<br>Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late.'<br>The Damsel heard; at first th' advice was </div><div style="margin:10px 0">strange,<br>Yet wrought a happy, nay, a speedy change:<br>'I have no care,' she said, when next they met,<br>But one may wonder, he is silent yet;<br>He looks around him with his usual stare,<br>And utters nothing--not that I shall care.'<br>This pettish humour pleased th' experienced </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Friend -<br>None need despair, whose silence can offend;<br>'Should I,' resumed the thoughtful Lass, 'consent<br>To hear the man, the man may now repent:<br>Think you my sighs shall call him from the plough,<br>Or give one hint, that 'You may woo me now?''<br>'Persist, my love,' replied the Friend, 'and </div><div style="margin:10px 0">gain<br>A parent's praise, that cannot be in vain.'<br>The father saw the change, but not the cause,<br>And gave the alter'd maid his fond applause:<br>The coarser manners she in part removed,<br>In part endured, improving and improved;<br>She spoke of household works, she rose betimes,<br>And said neglect and indolence were crimes;<br>The various duties of their life she weigh'd,<br>And strict attention to her dairy paid;<br>The names of servants now familiar grew,<br>And fair Lucinda's from her mind withdrew;<br>As prudent travellers for their ease assume<br>Their modes and language to whose lands they come;<br>So to the Farmer this fair Lass inclined,<br>Gave to the business of the Farm her mind;<br>To useful arts she turned her hand and eye;<br>And by her manners told him--'You may try.'<br>Th' observing Lover more attention paid,<br>With growing pleasure, to the alter'd maid;<br>He fear'd to lose her, and began to see<br>That a slim beauty might a helpmate be:<br>'Twixt hope and fear he now the lass address'd,<br>And in his Sunday robe his love express'd:<br>She felt no chilling dread, no thrilling joy,<br>Nor was too quickly kind, too slowly coy;<br>But still she lent an unreluctant ear<br>To all the rural business of the year;<br>Till love's strong hopes endured no more delay,<br>And Harry ask'd, and Nancy named the day.<br>'A happy change! my Boy,' the father cried:<br>'How lost your sister all her school-day pride?'<br>The Youth replied, 'It is the Widow's deed;<br>The cure is perfect and was wrought with speed.<br>And comes there, Boy, this benefit of books,<br>Of that smart dress, and of those dainty looks?<br>We must be kind--some offerings from the Farm<br>To the White Cot will speak our feelings warm;<br>Will show that people, when they know the fact,<br>Where they have judged severely, can retract.<br>Oft have I smiled, when I beheld her pass<br>With cautious step as if she hurt the grass;<br>Where, if a snail's retreat she chanced to storm,<br>She look'd as begging pardon of the worm;<br>And what, said I, still laughing at the view,<br>Have these weak creatures in the world to do?<br>But some are made for action, some to speak;<br>And, while she looks so pitiful and meek,<br>Her words are weighty, though her nerves are weak.'<br>Soon told the village-bells the rite was done,<br>That joined the school-bred Miss and Farmer's Son;<br>Her former habits some slight scandal raised,<br>But real worth was soon perceived and praised;<br>She, her neat taste imparted to the Farm,<br>And he, th' improving skill and vigorous arm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Crabbe">George Crabbe</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395894" data-title="Tale VII de George Crabbe" data-description="THE WIDOW'S TALE.

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 pass a pig-sty, or to face a cow:
Smiling she came, with petty talents graced,
A fair complexion, a..."></div>
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