<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395895" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tale VIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE MOTHER.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was a worthy, but a simple Pair,<br>Who nursed a Daughter, fairest of the fair:<br>Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,<br>Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd,<br>Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,<br>Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;<br>And now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,<br>They watch'd their treasure with peculiar care:<br>The fairest features they could early trace,<br>And, blind with love saw merit in her face -<br>Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace;<br>And Dorothea, from her infant years,<br>Gain'd all her wishes from their pride or fears;<br>She wrote a billet, and a novel read,<br>And with her fame her vanity was fed;<br>Each word, each look, each action was a cause<br>For flattering wonder and for fond applause;<br>She rode or danced, and ever glanced around,<br>Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found,<br>The yielding pair to her petitions gave<br>An humble friend to be a civil slave,<br>Who for a poor support herself resign'd<br>To the base toil of a dependant mind:<br>By nature cold, our Heiress stoop'd to art,<br>To gain the credit of a tender heart.<br>Hence at her door must suppliant paupers stand,<br>To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand:<br>And now, her education all complete,<br>She talk'd of virtuous love and union sweet;<br>She was indeed by no soft passion moved,<br>But wished with all her soul to be beloved.<br>Here, on the favour'd beauty Fortune smiled;<br>Her chosen Husband was a man so mild,<br>So humbly temper'd, so intent to please,<br>It quite distress'd her to remain at ease,<br>Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to tease:<br>She tried his patience on a thousand modes,<br>And tried it not upon the roughest roads.<br>Pleasure she sought, and disappointed, sigh'd<br>For joys, she said, 'to her alone denied;'<br>And she was sure 'her parents if alive<br>Would many comforts for their child contrive:'<br>The gentle Husband bade her name him one;<br>'No--that,' she answered, 'should for her be done;<br>How could she say what pleasures were around?<br>But she was certain many might be found.'<br>'Would she some seaport, Weymouth, Scarborough, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">grace?' -<br>'He knew she hated every watering-place.'<br>'The town?'--'What! now 'twas empty, joyless, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">dull?'<br>'In winter?'--'No; she liked it worse when full.'<br>She talk'd of building--'Would she plan a room?' -<br>'No! she could live, as he desired, in gloom.'<br>'Call then our friends and neighbours.'--'He might </div><div style="margin:10px 0">call,<br>And they might come and fill his ugly hall;<br>A noisy vulgar set, he knew she scorn'd them all.'<br>'Then might their two dear girls the time employ,<br>And their Improvement yield a solid joy.' -<br>'Solid indeed! and heavy--oh! the bliss<br>Of teaching letters to a lisping miss!'<br>'My dear, my gentle Dorothea, say,<br>Can I oblige you?'--'You may go away.'<br>Twelve heavy years this patient soul sustain'd<br>This wasp's attacks, and then her praise obtain'd,<br>Graved on a marble tomb, where he at peace </div><div style="margin:10px 0">remain'd.<br>Two daughters wept their loss; the one a child<br>With a plain face, strong sense, and temper mild,<br>Who keenly felt the Mother's angry taunt,<br>'Thou art the image of thy pious Aunt:'<br>Long time had Lucy wept her slighted face,<br>And then began to smile at her disgrace.<br>Her father's sister, who the world had seen<br>Near sixty years when Lucy saw sixteen,<br>Begg'd the plain girl: the gracious Mother smiled,<br>And freely gave her grieved but passive child;<br>And with her elder-born, the beauty bless'd,<br>This parent rested, if such minds can rest:<br>No miss her waxen babe could so admire,<br>Nurse with such care, or with such pride attire;<br>They were companions meet, with equal mind,<br>Bless'd with one love, and to one point inclined;<br>Beauty to keep, adorn, increase, and guard,<br>Was their sole care, and had its full reward:<br>In rising splendour with the one it reign'd,<br>And in the other was by care sustain'd,<br>The daughter's charms increased, the parent's yet </div><div style="margin:10px 0">remain'd.<br>Leave we these ladies to their daily care,<br>To see how meekness and discretion fare: -<br>A village maid, unvex'd by want or love,<br>Could not with more delight than Lucy move;<br>The village lark, high mounted in the spring,<br>Could not with purer joy than Lucy sing;<br>Her cares all light, her pleasures all sincere,<br>Her duty joy, and her companion dear;<br>In tender friendship and in true respect<br>Lived Aunt and Niece, no flattery, no neglect -<br>They read, walk'd, visited--together pray'd,<br>Together slept the matron and the maid:<br>There was such goodness, such pure nature seen<br>In Lucy's looks, a manner so serene;<br>Such harmony in motion, speech, and air,<br>That without fairness she was more than fair,<br>Had more than beauty in each speaking grace,<br>That lent their cloudless glory to the face;<br>Where mild good sense in placid looks were shown,<br>And felt in every bosom but her own;<br>The one presiding feature in her mind<br>Was the pure meekness of a will resign'd;<br>A tender spirit, freed from all pretence<br>Of wit, and pleased in mild benevolence;<br>Bless'd in protecting fondness she reposed<br>With every wish indulged though undisclosed;<br>But love, like zephyr on the limpid lake,<br>Was now the bosom of the maid to shake,<br>And in that gentle mind a gentle strife to make.<br>Among their chosen friends, a favoured few<br>The aunt and niece a youthful Rector knew;<br>Who, though a younger brother, might address<br>A younger sister, fearless of success;<br>His friends, a lofty race, their native pride<br>At first display'd, and their assent denied:<br>But, pleased such virtues and such love to trace,<br>They own'd she would adorn the loftiest race.<br>The Aunt, a mother's caution to supply,<br>Had watch'd the youthful priest with jealous eye;<br>And, anxious for her charge, had view'd unseen<br>The cautious life that keeps the conscience clean:<br>In all she found him all she wish'd to find,<br>With slight exception of a lofty mind:<br>A certain manner that express'd desire<br>To be received as brother to the 'Squire.<br>Lucy's meek eye had beam'd with many a tear,<br>Lucy's soft heart had beat with many a fear,<br>Before he told (although his looks, she thought,<br>Had oft confess'd) that he her favour sought;<br>But when he kneel'd, (she wish'd him not to kneel,)<br>And spoke the fears and hopes that lovers feel;<br>When too the prudent aunt herself confess'd<br>Her wishes on the gentle youth would rest;<br>The maiden's eye with tender passion beam'd,<br>She dwelt with fondness on the life she schemed;<br>The household cares, the soft and lasting ties<br>Of love, with all his binding charities;<br>Their village taught, consoled, assisted, fed,<br>Till the young zealot tears of pleasure shed.<br>But would her Mother? Ah! she fear'd it wrong<br>To have indulged these forward hopes so long,<br>Her mother loved, but was not used to grant<br>Favours so freely as her gentle aunt. -<br>Her gentle aunt, with smiles that angels wear,<br>Dispell'd her Lucy's apprehensive tear:<br>Her prudent foresight the request had made<br>To one whom none could govern, few persuade;<br>She doubted much if one in earnest woo'd<br>A girl with not a single charm endued;<br>The Sister's nobler views she then declared,<br>And what small sum for Lucy could be spared;<br>'If more than this the foolish priest requires,<br>Tell him,' she wrote,' to check his vain desires.'<br>At length, with many a cold expression mix'd,<br>With many a sneer on girls so fondly fix'd,<br>There came a promise--should they not repent,<br>But take with grateful minds the portion meant,<br>And wait the Sister's day--the Mother might </div><div style="margin:10px 0">consent.<br>And here, might pitying hope o'er truth prevail,<br>Or love o'er fortune, we would end our tale;<br>For who more bless'd than youthful pair removed<br>From fear of want--by mutual friends approved -<br>Short time to wait, and in that time to live<br>With all the pleasures hope and fancy give;<br>Their equal passion raised on just esteem,<br>When reason sanctions all that love can dream?<br>Yes! reason sanctions what stern fate denies:<br>The early prospect in the glory dies,<br>As the soft smiles on dying infants play<br>In their mild features, and then pass away.<br>The Beauty died ere she could yield her hand<br>In the high marriage by the Mother plann'd;<br>Who grieved indeed, but found a vast relief<br>In a cold heart, that ever warr'd with grief.<br>Lucy was present when her sister died,<br>Heiress to duties that she ill supplied:<br>There were no mutual feelings, sister arts,<br>No kindred taste, nor intercourse of hearts:<br>When in the mirror play'd the matron's smile,<br>The maiden's thoughts were traveling all the while;<br>And when desired to speak, she sigh'd to find<br>Her pause offended; 'Envy made her blind:<br>Tasteless she was, nor had a claim in life<br>Above the station of a rector's wife;<br>Yet as an heiress, she must shun disgrace,<br>Although no heiress to her mother's face:<br>It is your duty,' said th' imperious dame,<br>'(Advanced your fortune,) to advance your name,<br>And with superior rank, superior offers claim:<br>Your sister's lover, when his sorrows die,<br>May look upon you, and for favour sigh;<br>Nor can you offer a reluctant hand;<br>His birth is noble, and his seat is grand.'<br>Alarm'd was Lucy, was in tears--'A fool!<br>Was she a child in love?--a miss at school?<br>Doubts any mortal, if a change of state<br>Dissolves all claims and ties of earlier date?'<br>The Rector doubted, for he came to mourn<br>A sister dead, and with a wife return:<br>Lucy with heart unchanged received the youth,<br>True in herself, confiding in his truth;<br>But own'd her mother's change; the haughty dame<br>Pour'd strong contempt upon the youthful flame;<br>She firmly vow'd her purpose to pursue,<br>Judged her own cause, and bade the youth adieu!<br>The lover begg'd, insisted, urged his pain,<br>His brother wrote to threaten and complain;<br>Her sister reasoning proved the promise made,<br>Lucy appealing to a parent pray'd;<br>But all opposed the event that she design'd,<br>And all in vain--she never changed her mind;<br>But coldly answer'd in her wonted way,<br>That she 'would rule, and Lucy must obey.'<br>With peevish fear, she saw her health decline,<br>And cried, 'Oh! monstrous, for a man to pine!<br>But if your foolish heart must yield to love,<br>Let him possess it whom I now approve;<br>This is my pleasure.'--Still the Rector came<br>With larger offers and with bolder claim;<br>But the stern lady would attend no more -<br>She frown'd, and rudely pointed to the door;<br>Whate'er he wrote, he saw unread return'd,<br>And he, indignant, the dishonour spurn'd:<br>Nay, fix'd suspicion where he might confide,<br>And sacrificed his passion to his pride.<br>Lucy, meantime, though threaten'd and distress'd,<br>Against her marriage made a strong protest:<br>All was domestic war; the Aunt rebell'd<br>Against the sovereign will, and was expell'd;<br>And every power was tried, and every art,<br>To bend to falsehood one determined heart;<br>Assail'd, in patience it received the shock,<br>Soft as the wave, unshaken as the rock:<br>But while th' unconquer'd soul endures the storm<br>Of angry fate, it preys upon the form;<br>With conscious virtue she resisted still,<br>And conscious love gave vigour to her will;<br>But Lucy's trial was at hand; with joy<br>The Mother cried--'Behold your constant boy -<br>Thursday--was married: --take the paper, sweet,<br>And read the conduct of your reverend cheat;<br>See with what pomp of coaches, in what crowd<br>The creature married--of his falsehood proud!<br>False, did I say?--at least no whining fool;<br>And thus will hopeless passions ever cool:<br>But shall his bride your single state reproach?<br>No! give him crowd for crowd, and coach for coach.<br>Oh! you retire; reflect then, gentle miss,<br>And gain some spirit in a cause like this.'<br>Some spirit Lucy gain'd; a steady soul,<br>Defying all persuasion, all control:<br>In vain reproach, derision, threats were tried;<br>The constant mind all outward force defied,<br>By vengeance vainly urged, in vain assail'd by </div><div style="margin:10px 0">pride;<br>Fix'd in her purpose, perfect in her part,<br>She felt the courage of a wounded heart;<br>The world receded from her rising view,<br>When heaven approach'd as earthly things withdrew;<br>Not strange before, for in the days of love,<br>Joy, hope, and pleasure, she had thoughts above,<br>Pious when most of worldly prospects fond,<br>When they best pleased her she could look beyond;<br>Had the young priest a faithful lover died,<br>Something had been her bosom to divide;<br>Now heaven had all, for in her holiest views<br>She saw the matron whom she fear'd to lose;<br>While from her parent, the dejected maid<br>Forced the unpleasant thought, or thinking pray'd.<br>Surprised, the mother saw the languid frame,<br>And felt indignant, yet forbore to blame;<br>Once with a frown she cried, 'And do you mean<br>To die of love--the folly of fifteen?'<br>But as her anger met with no reply,<br>She let the gentle girl in quiet die;<br>And to her sister wrote, impell'd by pain,<br>'Come quickly, Martha, or you come in vain.'<br>Lucy meantime profess'd with joy sincere,<br>That nothing held, employ'd, engaged her here.<br>'I am an humble actor, doom'd to play<br>A part obscure, and then to glide away:<br>Incurious how the great or happy shine,<br>Or who have parts obscure and sad as mine;<br>In its best prospect I but wish'd for life,<br>To be th' assiduous, gentle, useful wife;<br>That lost, with wearied mind, and spirit poor,<br>I drop my efforts, and can act no more;<br>With growing joy I feel my spirits tend<br>To that last scene where all my duties end.'<br>Hope, ease, delight, the thoughts of dying gave,<br>Till Lucy spoke with fondness of the grave;<br>She smiled with wasted form, but spirit firm,<br>And said, 'She left but little for the worm:'<br>As toll'd the bell, 'There's one,' she said, 'hath </div><div style="margin:10px 0">press'd<br>Awhile before me to the bed of rest:'<br>And she beside her with attention spread<br>The decorations of the maiden dead.<br>While quickly thus the mortal part declin'd,<br>The happiest visions fill'd the active mind;<br>A soft, religious melancholy gain'd<br>Entire possession, and for ever reign'd:<br>On Holy Writ her mind reposing dwelt,<br>She saw the wonders, she the mercies felt;<br>Till, in a bless'd and glorious reverie,<br>She seem'd the Saviour as on earth to see,<br>And, fill'd with love divine, th' attending friend </div><div style="margin:10px 0">to be;<br>Or she who trembling, yet confiding, stole<br>Near to the garment, touch'd it, and was whole;<br>When, such the intenseness of the working thought,<br>On her it seem'd the very deed was wrought;<br>She the glad patient's fear and rapture found,<br>The holy transport, and the healing wound;<br>This was so fix'd, so grafted in the heart,<br>That she adopted, nay became the part:<br>But one chief scene was present to her sight,<br>Her Saviour resting in the tomb by night;<br>Her fever rose, and still her wedded mind<br>Was to that scene, that hallow'd cave, confin'd -<br>Where in the shade of death the body laid,<br>There watch'd the spirit of the wandering maid;<br>Her looks were fix'd, entranced, illumed, serene,<br>In the still glory of the midnight scene:<br>There at her Saviour's feet, in visions bless'd,<br>Th' enraptured maid a sacred joy possess'd;<br>In patience waiting for the first-born ray<br>Of that all-glorious and triumphant day:<br>To this idea all her soul she gave,<br>Her mind reposing by the sacred grave;<br>Then sleep would seal the eye, the vision close,<br>And steep the solemn thoughts in brief repose.<br>Then grew the soul serene, and all its powers<br>Again restored, illumed the dying hours;<br>But reason dwelt where fancy stray'd before,<br>And the mind wander'd from its views no more;<br>Till death approach'd, when every look express'd<br>A sense of bliss, till every sense had rest.<br>The mother lives, and has enough to buy<br>The attentive ear and the submissive eye<br>Of abject natures--these are daily told,<br>How triumph'd beauty in the days of old;<br>How, by her window seated, crowds have cast<br>Admiring glances, wondering as they pass'd;<br>How from her carriage as she stepp'd to pray,<br>Divided ranks would humbly make her way;<br>And how each voice in the astonish'd throng<br>Pronounced her peerless as she moved along.<br>Her picture then the greedy Dame displays;<br>Touch'd by no shame, she now demands its praise;<br>In her tall mirror then she shows a face,<br>Still coldly fair with unaffecting grace;<br>These she compares: 'It has the form,' she cries,<br>'But wants the air, the spirit, and the eyes;<br>This, as a likeness, is correct and true,<br>But there alone the living grace we view.'<br>This said, th' applauding voice the Dame requir'd,<br>And, gazing, slowly from the glass retired.</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=395895" data-title="Tale VIII de George Crabbe" data-description="THE MOTHER. There was a worthy, but a simple Pair, Who nursed a Daughter, fairest of the fair: Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd, Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd, Heir to the fortune they design'd for all, Nor had th' allotted..."></div> </div> </div>

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