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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395896" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tale X</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE LOVER'S JOURNEY.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is the Soul that sees: the outward eyes<br>Present the object, but the Mind descries;<br>And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiff'rence </div><div style="margin:10px 0">rise:<br>When minds are joyful, then we look around,<br>And what is seen is all on fairy ground;<br>Again they sicken, and on every view<br>Cast their own dull and melancholy hue;<br>Or, if absorb'd by their peculiar cares,<br>The vacant eye on viewless matter glares,<br>Our feelings still upon our views attend,<br>And their own natures to the objects lend:<br>Sorrow and joy are in their influence sure,<br>Long as the passion reigns th' effects endure;<br>But Love in minds his various changes makes,<br>And clothes each object with the change he takes;<br>His light and shade on every view he throws,<br>And on each object what he feels bestows.<br>Fair was the morning, and the month was June,<br>When rose a Lover;--love awakens soon:<br>Brief his repose, yet much he dreamt the while<br>Of that day's meeting, and his Laura's smile:<br>Fancy and love that name assign'd to her,<br>Call'd Susan in the parish-register;<br>And he no more was John--his Laura gave<br>The name Orlando to her faithful slave.<br>Bright shone the glory of the rising day,<br>When the fond traveller took his favourite way;<br>He mounted gaily, felt his bosom light,<br>And all he saw was pleasing in his sight.<br>'Ye hours of expectation, quickly fly,<br>And bring on hours of bless'd reality;<br>When I shall Laura see, beside her stand,<br>Hear her sweet voice, and press her yielded hand.'<br>First o'er a barren heath beside the coast<br>Orlando rode, and joy began to boast.<br>'This neat low gorse,' said he, 'with golden </div><div style="margin:10px 0">bloom,<br>Delights each sense, is beauty, is perfume;<br>And this gay ling, with all its purple flowers,<br>A man at leisure might admire for hours;<br>This green-fringed cup-moss has a scarlet tip,<br>That yields to nothing but my Laura's lip;<br>And then how fine this herbage! men may say<br>A heath is barren; nothing is so gay:<br>Barren or bare to call such charming scene<br>Argues a mind possess'd by care and spleen.'<br>Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat,<br>Dust rose in clouds before the horse's feet;<br>For now he pass'd through lanes of burning sand,<br>Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultured land;<br>Where the dark poppy flourish'd on the dry<br>And sterile soil, and mock'd the thin-set rye.<br>'How lovely this!' the rapt Orlando said;<br>'With what delight is labouring man repaid!<br>The very lane has sweets that all admire,<br>The rambling suckling, and the vigorous brier;<br>See! wholesome wormwood grows beside the way,<br>Where dew-press'd yet the dog-rose bends the spray;<br>Fresh herbs the fields, fair shrubs the banks </div><div style="margin:10px 0">adorn,<br>And snow-white bloom falls flaky from the thorn;<br>No fostering hand they need, no sheltering wall,<br>They spring uncultured, and they bloom for all.'<br>The Lover rode as hasty lovers ride,<br>And reach'd a common pasture wild and wide;<br>Small black-legg'd sheep devour with hunger keen<br>The meagre herbage, fleshless, lank, and lean:<br>Such o'er thy level turf, Newmarket! stray,<br>And there, with other black-legs, find their prey.<br>He saw some scatter'd hovels; turf was piled<br>In square brown stacks; a prospect bleak and wild!<br>A mill, indeed, was in the centre found,<br>With short sear herbage withering all around;<br>A smith's black shed opposed a wright's long shop,<br>And join'd an inn where humble travellers stop.<br>'Ay, this is Nature,' said the gentle 'Squire;<br>'This ease, peace, pleasure--who would not admire?<br>With what delight these sturdy children play,<br>And joyful rustics at the close of day;<br>Sport follows labour; on this even space<br>Will soon commence the wrestling and the race;<br>Then will the village-maidens leave their home,<br>And to the dance with buoyant spirits come;<br>No affectation in their looks is seen,<br>Nor know they what disguise aud flattery mean;<br>Nor aught to move an envious pang they see,<br>Easy their service, and their love is free;<br>Hence early springs that love, it long endures,<br>And life's first comfort, while they live, ensures:<br>They the low roof and rustic comforts prize,<br>Nor cast on prouder mansions envying eyes:<br>Sometimes the news at yonder town they hear,<br>And learn what busier mortals feel and fear;<br>Secure themselves, although by tales amazed<br>Of towns bombarded and of cities razed;<br>As if they doubted, in their still retreat,<br>The very news that makes their quiet sweet,<br>And their days happy--happier only knows<br>He on whom Laura her regard bestows.'<br>On rode Orlando, counting all the while<br>The miles he pass'd, and every coming mile;<br>Like all attracted things, he quicker flies,<br>The place approaching where th' attraction lies;<br>When next appear'd a dam--so call the place -<br>Where lies a road confined in narrow space;<br>A work of labour, for on either side<br>Is level fen, a prospect wild and wide,<br>With dikes on either hand by ocean's self supplied:<br>Far on the right the distant sea is seen,<br>And salt the springs that feed the marsh between:<br>Beneath an ancient bridge, the straiten'd flood<br>Rolls through its sloping banks of slimy mud;<br>Near it a sunken boat resists the tide,<br>That frets and hurries to th' opposing side;<br>The rushes sharp, that on the borders grow,<br>Bend their brown flow'rets to the stream below,<br>Impure in all its course, in all its progress slow:<br>Here a grave Flora scarcely deigns to bloom,<br>Nor wears a rosy blush, nor sheds perfume:<br>The few dull flowers that o'er the place are spread<br>Partake the nature of their fenny bed;<br>Here on its wiry stem, in rigid bloom,<br>Grows the salt lavender that lacks perfume;<br>Here the dwarf sallows creep, the septfoil harsh,<br>And the soft slimy mallow of the marsh;<br>Low on the ear the distant billows sound,<br>And just in view appears their stony bound;<br>No hedge nor tree conceals the glowing sun,<br>Birds, save a wat'ry tribe, the district shun,<br>Nor chirp among the reeds where bitter waters run.<br>'Various as beauteous, Nature, is thy face,'<br>Exclaim'd Orlando: 'all that grows has grace:<br>All are appropriate--bog, and marsh, and fen,<br>Are only poor to undiscerning men;<br>Here may the nice and curious eye explore<br>How Nature's hand adorns the rushy moor;<br>Here the rare moss in secret shade is found,<br>Here the sweet myrtle of the shaking ground;<br>Beauties are these that from the view retire,<br>But well repay th' attention they require;<br>For these my Laura will her home forsake,<br>And all the pleasures they afford partake.'<br>Again, the country was enclosed, a wide<br>And sandy road has banks on either side;<br>Where, lo! a hollow on the left appear'd,<br>And there a gipsy tribe their tent had rear'd;<br>'Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun,<br>And they had now their early meal begun,<br>When two brown boys just left their grassy seat,<br>The early Trav'ller with their prayers to greet:<br>While yet Orlando held his pence in hand,<br>He saw their sister on her duty stand;<br>Some twelve years old, demure, affected, sly,<br>Prepared the force of early powers to try;<br>Sudden a look of languor he descries,<br>And well-feign'd apprehension in her eyes;<br>Train'd but yet savage, in her speaking face<br>He mark'd the features of her vagrant race;<br>When a light laugh and roguish leer express'd<br>The vice implanted in her youthful breast:<br>Forth from the tent her elder brother came,<br>Who seem'd offended, yet forbore to blame<br>The young designer, but could only trace<br>The looks of pity in the trav'ller's face:<br>Within, the Father, who from fences nigh<br>Had brought the fuel for the fire's supply,<br>Watch'd now the feeble blaze, and stood dejected </div><div style="margin:10px 0">by.<br>On ragged rug, just borrow'd from the bed,<br>And by the hand of coarse indulgence fed,<br>In dirty patchwork negligently dress'd,<br>Reclined the Wife, an infant at her breast;<br>In her wild face some touch of grace remain'd,<br>Of vigour palsied and of beauty stain'd;<br>Her bloodshot eyes on her unheeding mate<br>Were wrathful turn'd, and seem'd her wants to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">state,<br>Cursing his tardy aid--her Mother there<br>With gipsy-state engross'd the only chair;<br>Solemn and dull her look; with such she stands,<br>And reads the milk-maid's fortune in her hands,<br>Tracing the lines of life; assumed through years,<br>Each feature now the steady falsehood wears;<br>With hard and savage eye she views the food,<br>And grudging pinches their intruding brood;<br>Last in the group, the worn-out Grandsire sits<br>Neglected, lost, and living but by fits:<br>Useless, despised, his worthless labours done,<br>And half protected by the vicious Son,<br>Who half supports him; he with heavy glance<br>Views the young ruffians who around him dance;<br>And, by the sadness in his face, appears<br>To trace the progress of their future years:<br>Through what strange course of misery, vice, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">deceit,<br>Must wildly wander each unpractised cheat!<br>What shame and grief, what punishment and pain,<br>Sport of fierce passions, must each child sustain -<br>Ere they like him approach their latter end,<br>Without a hope, a comfort, or a friend!<br>But this Orlando felt not; 'Rogues,' said he,<br>'Doubtless they are, but merry rogues they be;<br>They wander round the land, and be it true<br>They break the laws--then let the laws pursue<br>The wanton idlers; for the life they live,<br>Acquit I cannot, but I can forgive.'<br>This said, a portion from his purse was thrown,<br>And every heart seem'd happy like his own.<br>He hurried forth, for now the town was nigh -<br>'The happiest man of mortal men am I.'<br>Thou art! but change in every state is near<br>(So while the wretched hope, the bless'd may fear):<br>'Say, Where is Laura?'--'That her words must show,'<br>A lass replied; 'read this, and thou shalt know!'<br>'What, gone!--'Her friend insisted--forced to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">go:<br>Is vex'd, was teased, could not refuse her'--No?<br>'But you can follow.' Yes! 'The miles are few,<br>The way is pleasant; will you come?--Adieu!<br>Thy Laura!' No! I feel I must resign<br>The pleasing hope; thou hadst been here, if mine.<br>A lady was it?--Was no brother there?<br>But why should I afflict me, if there were?<br>'The way is pleasant.' What to me the way?<br>I cannot reach her till the close of day.<br>My dumb companion! Is it thus we speed?<br>Not I from grief nor thou from toil art freed;<br>Still art thou doom'd to travel and to pine,<br>For my vexation--What a fate is mine!<br>'Gone to a friend, she tells me;--I commend<br>Her purpose: means she to a female friend?<br>By Heaven, I wish she suffer'd half the pain<br>Of hope protracted through the day in vain.<br>Shall I persist to see th' ungrateful maid?<br>Yes, I will see her, slight her, and upbraid.<br>What! in the very hour? She knew the time,<br>And doubtless chose it to increase her crime.'<br>Forth rode Orlando by a river's side,<br>Inland and winding, smooth, and full, and wide,<br>That roll'd majestic on, in one soft-flowing tide;<br>The bottom gravel, flow'ry were the banks,<br>Tall willows waving in their broken ranks;<br>The road, now near, now distant, winding led<br>By lovely meadows which the waters fed;<br>He pass'd the way-side inn, the village spire,<br>Nor stopp'd to gaze, to question or admire;<br>On either side the rural mansions stood,<br>With hedge-row trees, and hills, high-crown'd with </div><div style="margin:10px 0">wood,<br>And many a devious stream that reach'd the nobler </div><div style="margin:10px 0">flood.<br>'I hate these scenes,' Orlando angry cried,<br>'And these proud farmers! yes I hate their pride,<br>See! that sleek fellow, how he strides along,<br>Strong as an ox, and ignorant as strong;<br>Can yon close crops a single eye detain<br>But he who counts the profits of the grain?<br>And these vile beans with deleterious smell,<br>Where is there beauty? can a mortal tell?<br>These deep fat meadows I detest; it shocks<br>One's feelings there to see the grazing ox; -<br>For slaughter fatted, as a lady's smile<br>Rejoices man, and means his death the while.<br>Lo! now the sons of labour! every day<br>Employ'd in toil and vex'd in every way;<br>Theirs is but mirth assumed, and they conceal,<br>In their affected joys, the ills they feel:<br>I hate these long green lanes; there's nothing sees<br>In this vile country but eternal green;<br>Woods! waters! meadows! Will they never end?<br>'Tis a vile prospect: --Gone to see a friend?'<br>Still on he rode! a mansion fair and tall<br>Rose on his view--the pride of Loddon Hall:<br>Spread o'er the park he saw the grazing steer,<br>The full-fed steed, and herds of bounding deer:<br>On a clear stream the vivid sunbeams play'd,<br>Through noble elms, and on the surface made<br>That moving picture, checker'd light and shade;<br>Th' attended children, there indulged to stray,<br>Enjoy'd and gave new beauty to the day;<br>Whose happy parents from their room were seen<br>Pleased with the sportive idlers on the green.<br>'Well!' said Orlando, 'and for one so bless'd,<br>A thousand reasoning wretches are distressed;<br>Nay, these, so seeming glad, are grieving like the </div><div style="margin:10px 0">rest:<br>Man is a cheat--and all but strive to hide<br>Their inward misery by their outward pride.<br>What do yon lofty gates and walls contain,<br>But fruitless means to sooth unconquer'd pain?<br>The parents read each infant daughter's smile,<br>Form'd to seduce, encouraged to beguile;<br>They view the boys unconscious of their fate,<br>Sure to be tempted, sure to take the bait;<br>These will be Lauras, sad Orlandos these -<br>There's guilt and grief in all one hears and sees.'<br>Our Trav'ller, lab'ring up a hill, look'd down<br>Upon a lively, busy, pleasant town;<br>All he beheld were there alert, alive,<br>The busiest bees that ever stock'd a hive:<br>A pair were married, and the bells aloud<br>Proclaim'd their joy, and joyful seem'd the crowd;<br>And now, proceeding on his way, he spied,<br>Bound by strong ties, the bridegroom and the bride,<br>Each by some friends attended, near they drew,<br>And spleen beheld them with prophetic view.<br>'Married! nay mad!' Orlando cried in scorn;<br>'Another wretch on this unlucky morn:<br>What are this foolish mirth, these idle joys?<br>Attempts to stifle doubt and fear by noise:<br>To me these robes, expressive of delight,<br>Foreshow distress, and only grief excite;<br>And for these cheerful friends, will they behold<br>Their wailing brood in sickness, want, and cold;<br>And his proud look, and her soft languid air<br>Will--but I spare you--go, unhappy pair!'<br>And now, approaching to the Journey's end,<br>His anger fails, his thoughts to kindness tend,<br>He less offended feels, and rather fears t'offend:<br>Now gently rising, hope contends with doubt,<br>And casts a sunshine on the views without;<br>And still reviving joy and lingering gloom<br>Alternate empire o'er his soul assume;<br>Till, long perplex'd he now began to find<br>The softer thoughts engross the settling mind:<br>He saw the mansion, and should quickly see<br>His Laura's self--and angry could he be?<br>No! the resentment melted all away -<br>'For this my grief a single smile will pay,'<br>Our trav'ller cried;--'And why should it offend,<br>That one so good should have a pressing friend?<br>Grieve not, my heart! to find a favourite guest<br>Thy pride and boast--ye selfish sorrows rest;<br>She will be kind, and I again be bless'd.'<br>While gentler passions thus his bosom sway'd<br>He reach'd the mansion, and he saw the maid;<br>'My Laura!'--'My Orlando!--this is kind;<br>In truth I came persuaded, not inclined:<br>Our friends' amusement let us now pursue,<br>And I to-morrow will return with you.'<br>Like man entranced the happy Lover stood -<br>'As Laura wills, for she is kind and good;<br>Ever the truest, gentlest, fairest, best -<br>As Laura wills: I see her and am bless'd.'<br>Home went the Lovers through that busy place,<br>By Loddon Hall, the country's pride and grace;<br>By the rich meadows where the oxen fed,<br>Through the green vale that form'd the river's bed;<br>And by unnumber'd cottages and farms,<br>That have for musing minds unnumbered charms;<br>And how affected by the view of these<br>Was then Orlando? did they pain or please?<br>Nor pain nor pleasure could they yield--and why?<br>The mind was fill'd, was happy, and the eye<br>Roved o'er the fleeting views, that but appear'd to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">die.<br>Alone Orlando on the morrow paced<br>The well-known road; the gipsy-tent he traced;<br>The dam high-raised, the reedy dikes between,<br>The scatter'd hovels on the barren green,<br>The burning sand, the fields of thin-set rye,<br>Mock'd by the useless Flora blooming by;<br>And last the heath with all its various bloom,<br>And the close lanes that led the trav'ller home.<br>Then could these scenes the former joys renew?<br>Or was there now dejection in the view? -<br>Nor one or other would they yield--and why?<br>The mind was absent, and the vacant eye<br>Wander'd o'er viewless scenes, that but appear'd to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">die.</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=395896" data-title="Tale X de George Crabbe" data-description="THE LOVER'S JOURNEY.

It is the Soul that sees: the outward eyes
Present the object, but the Mind descries;
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiff'rence 

rise:
When minds are joyful, then we look around,
And what is seen is all on fairy grou..."></div>
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