<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395906" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tale XX</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE BROTHERS.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Than old George Fletcher, on the British coast<br>Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast:<br>Kind, simple and sincere--he seldom spoke,<br>But sometimes sang and chorus'd--'Hearts of Oak:'<br>In dangers steady, with his lot content,<br>His days in labour and in love were spent.<br>He left a Son so like him, that the old<br>With joy exclaim'd, ''Tis Fletcher we behold;'<br>But to his Brother, when the kinsmen came<br>And view'd his form, they grudged the father's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">name.<br>George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad,<br>With just the failings that his father had;<br>Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact,<br>With just the virtues that his father lack'd.<br>George lived at sea: upon the land a guest -<br>He sought for recreation, not for rest;<br>While, far unlike, his brother's feebler form<br>Shrank from the cold, and shudder'd at the storm;<br>Still with the Seaman's to connect his trade,<br>The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were made.<br>George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind,<br>And was to Isaac pitiful and kind;<br>A very father, till his art was gain'd,<br>And then a friend unwearied he remain'd;<br>He saw his brother was of spirit low,<br>His temper peevish, and his motions slow;<br>Not fit to bustle in a world, or make<br>Friends to his fortune for his merit's sake;<br>But the kind sailor could not boast the art<br>Of looking deeply in the human heart;<br>Else had he seen that this weak brother knew<br>What men to court--what objects to pursue;<br>That he to distant gain the way discern'd,<br>And none so crooked but his genius learn'd.<br>Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt;<br>He hired a house, and there the Landman dwelt,<br>Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home,<br>For there would George with cash and comforts come;<br>And when they parted, Isaac look'd around<br>Where other friends and helpers might be found.<br>He wish'd for some port-place, and one might </div><div style="margin:10px 0">fall,<br>He wisely thought, if he should try for all;<br>He had a vote--and were it well applied,<br>Might have its worth--and he had views beside;<br>Old Burgess Steel was able to promote<br>An humble man who served him with a vote;<br>For Isaac felt not what some tempers feel,<br>But bow'd and bent the neck to Burgess Steel;<br>And great attention to a lady gave,<br>His ancient friend, a maiden spare and grave;<br>One whom the visage long and look demure<br>Of Isaac pleased--he seem'd sedate and pure;<br>And his soft heart conceived a gentle flame<br>For her who waited on this virtuous dame.<br>Not an outrageous love, a scorching fire,<br>But friendly liking and chastised desire;<br>And thus he waited, patient in delay,<br>In present favour and in fortune's way.<br>George then was coasting--war was yet delay'd,<br>And what he gain'd was to his brother paid;<br>Nor ask'd the Seaman what he saved or spent,<br>But took his grog, wrought hard, and was content;<br>Till war awaked the land, and George began<br>To think what part became a useful man:<br>'Press'd, I must go: why, then, 'tis better far<br>At once to enter like a British tar,<br>Than a brave captain and the foe to shun,<br>As if I fear'd the music of a gun.'<br>'Go not!' said Isaac--'you shall wear disguise.'<br>'What!' said the Seaman, 'clothe myself with lies!'<br>'Oh! but there's danger.'--'Danger in the fleet?<br>You cannot mean, good brother, of defeat;<br>And other dangers I at land must share -<br>So now adieu! and trust a brother's care.'<br>Isaac awhile demurr'd--but, in his heart,<br>So might he share, he was disposed to part:<br>The better mind will sometimes feel the pain<br>Of benefactions--favour is a chain;<br>But they the feeling scorn, and what they wish, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">disdain;<br>While beings form'd in coarser mould will hate<br>The helping hand they ought to venerate:<br>No wonder George should in this cause prevail,<br>With one contending who was glad to fail:<br>'Isaac, farewell! do wipe that doleful eye;<br>Crying we came, and groaning we may die;<br>Let us do something 'twixt the groan and cry:<br>And hear me, brother, whether pay or prize,<br>One half to thee I give and I devise;<br>Por thou hast oft occasion for the aid<br>Of learn'd physicians, and they will be paid;<br>Their wives and children men support at sea,<br>And thou, my lad, art wife and child to me:<br>Farewell! I go where hope and honour call,<br>Nor does it follow that who fights must fall,'<br>Isaac here made a poor attempt to speak,<br>And a huge tear moved slowly down his cheek;<br>Like Pluto's iron drop, hard sign of grace,<br>It slowly roll'd upon the rueful face,<br>Forced by the striving will alone its way to trace.<br>Years fled--war lasted--George at sea remain'd,<br>While the slow Landman still his profits gain'd:<br>An humble place was vacant--he besought<br>His patron's interest, and the office caught;<br>For still the Virgin was his faithful friend,<br>And one so sober could with truth commend,<br>Who of his own defects most humbly thought,<br>And their advice with zeal and reverence sought:<br>Whom thus the Mistress praised, the Maid approved,<br>And her he wedded whom he wisely loved.<br>No more he needs assistance--but, alas!<br>He fears the money will for liquor pass;<br>Or that the Seaman might to flatterers lend,<br>Or give support to some pretended friend:<br>Still he must write--he wrote, and he confess'd<br>That, till absolved, he should be sore distress'd;<br>But one so friendly would, he thought, forgive<br>The hasty deed--Heav'n knew how he should live;<br>'But you,' he added, 'as a man of sense,<br>Have well consider'd danger and expense:<br>I ran, alas! into the fatal snare,<br>And now for trouble must my mind prepare;<br>And how, with children, I shall pick my way<br>Through a hard world, is more than I can say:<br>Then change not, Brother, your more happy state,<br>Or on the hazard long deliberate.'<br>George answered gravely, 'It is right and fit,<br>In all our crosses, humbly to submit:<br>Your apprehensions are unwise, unjust;<br>Forbear repining, and expel distrust.'<br>He added, 'Marriage was the joy of life,'<br>And gave his service to his brother's wife;<br>Then vow'd to bear in all expense a part,<br>And thus concluded, 'Have a cheerful heart.'<br>Had the glad Isaac been his brother's guide,<br>In the same terms the Seaman had replied;<br>At such reproofs the crafty Landman smiled,<br>And softly said, 'This creature is a child.'<br>Twice had the gallant ship a capture made -<br>And when in port the happy crew were paid,<br>Home went the Sailor, with his pockets stored,<br>Ease to enjoy, and pleasure to afford;<br>His time was short, joy shone in every face,<br>Isaac half fainted in the fond embrace:<br>The wife resolved her honour'd guest to please,<br>The children clung upon their uncle's knees;<br>The grog went round, the neighbours drank his </div><div style="margin:10px 0">health,<br>And George exclaimed, 'Ah! what to this is wealth?<br>Better,' said he, 'to bear a loving heart,<br>Than roll in riches--but we now must part!'<br>All yet is still--but hark! the winds o'ersweep<br>The rising waves, and howl upon the deep;<br>Ships late becalm'd on mountain-billows ride -<br>So life is threaten'd and so man is tried.<br>Ill were the tidings that arrived from sea,<br>The worthy George must now a cripple be:<br>His leg was lopp'd; and though his heart was sound,<br>Though his brave captain was with glory crown'd,<br>Yet much it vex'd him to repose on shore,<br>An idle log, and be of use no more:<br>True, he was sure that Isaac would receive<br>All of his Brother that the foe might leave;<br>To whom the Seaman his design had sent,<br>Ere from the port the wounded hero went:<br>His wealth and expectations told, he 'knew<br>Wherein they fail'd, what Isaac's love would do;<br>That he the grog and cabin would supply,<br>Where George at anchor during life would lie.'<br>The Landman read--and, reading, grew distress'd: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">-<br>'Could he resolve t'admit so poor a guest?<br>Better at Greenwich might the Sailor stay,<br>Unless his purse could for his comforts pay.'<br>So Isaac judged, and to his wife appealed,<br>But yet acknowledged it was best to yield:<br>'Perhaps his pension, with what sums remain<br>Due or unsquander'd, may the man maintain;<br>Refuse we must not.'--With a heavy sigh<br>The lady heard, and made her kind reply: -<br>'Nor would I wish it, Isaac, were we sure<br>How long this crazy building will endure;<br>Like an old house, that every day appears<br>About to fall, he may be propp'd for years;<br>For a few months, indeed, we might comply,<br>But these old batter'd fellows never die.'<br>The hand of Isaac, George on entering took,<br>With love and resignation in his look;<br>Declared his comfort in the fortune past,<br>And joy to find his anchor safely cast:<br>'Call then my nephews, let the grog be brought,<br>And I will tell them how the ship was fought.'<br>Alas! our simple Seaman should have known<br>That all the care, the kindness, he had shown,<br>Were from his Brother's heart, if not his memory, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">flown:<br>All swept away, to be perceived no more,<br>Like idle structures on the sandy shore,<br>The chance amusement of the playful boy,<br>That the rude billows in their rage destroy.<br>Poor George confess'd, though loth the truth to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">find,<br>Slight was his knowledge of a Brother's mind:<br>The vulgar pipe was to the wife offence,<br>The frequent grog to Isaac an expense;<br>Would friends like hers, she question'd, 'choose to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">come<br>Where clouds of poison'd fume defiled a room?<br>This could their Lady-friend, and Burgess Steel<br>(Teased with his worship's asthma), bear to feel?<br>Could they associate or converse with him -<br>A loud rough sailor with a timber limb?'<br>Cold as he grew, still Isaac strove to show,<br>By well-feign'd care, that cold he could not grow;<br>And when he saw his brother look distress'd,<br>He strove some petty comforts to suggest;<br>On his wife solely their neglect to lay,<br>And then t'excuse it, as a woman's way;<br>He too was chidden when her rules he broke,<br>And when she sicken'd at the scent of smoke.<br>George, though in doubt, was still consoled to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">find<br>His Brother wishing to be reckoned kind:<br>That Isaac seem'd concern'd by his distress,<br>Gave to his injured feelings some redress;<br>But none he found disposed to lend an ear<br>To stories, all were once intent to hear:<br>Except his nephew, seated on his knee,<br>He found no creature cared about the sea;<br>But George indeed--for George they call'd the boy,<br>When his good uncle was their boast and joy -<br>Would listen long, and would contend with sleep,<br>To hear the woes and wonders of the deep;<br>Till the fond mother cried--'That man will teach<br>The foolish boy his rude and boisterous speech.'<br>So judged the father--and the boy was taught<br>To shun the uncle, whom his love had sought.<br>The mask of kindness now but seldom worn,<br>George felt each evil harder to be borne;<br>And cried (vexation growing day by day),<br>'Ah! brother Isaac! What! I'm in the way!'<br>'No! on my credit, look ye, No! but I<br>Am fond of peace, and my repose would buy<br>On any terms--in short, we must comply:<br>My spouse had money--she must have her will -<br>Ah! brother, marriage is a bitter pill.'<br>George tried the lady--'Sister, I offend.'<br>'Me?' she replied--'Oh no! you may depend<br>On my regard--but watch your brother's way,<br>Whom I, like you, must study and obey.'<br>'Ah!' thought the Seaman, 'what a head was mine,<br>That easy berth at Greenwich to resign!<br>I'll to the parish'--but a little pride,<br>And some affection, put the thought aside.<br>Now gross neglect and open scorn he bore<br>In silent sorrow--but he felt the more:<br>The odious pipe he to the kitchen took,<br>Or strove to profit by some pious book.<br>When the mind stoops to this degraded state,<br>New griefs will darken the dependant's fate;<br>'Brother!' said Isaac, 'you will sure excuse<br>The little freedom I'm compell'd to use:<br>My wife's relations--(curse the haughty crew!) -<br>Affect such niceness, and such dread of you:<br>You speak so loud--and they have natures soft -<br>Brother--I wish--do go upon the loft!'<br>Poor George obey'd, and to the garret fled,<br>Where not a being saw the tears he shed:<br>But more was yet required, for guests were come,<br>Who could not dine if he disgraced the room.<br>It shock'd his spirit to be esteem'd unfit<br>With an own brother and his wife to sit;<br>He grew rebellious--at the vestry spoke<br>For weekly aid--they heard it as a joke:<br>'So kind a brother, and so wealthy--you<br>Apply to us?--No! this will never do:<br>Good neighbour Fletcher,' said the Overseer,<br>'We are engaged--you can have nothing here!'<br>George mutter'd something in despairing tone,<br>Then sought his loft, to think and grieve alone;<br>Neglected, slighted, restless on his bed,<br>With heart half broken, and with scraps ill fed;<br>Yet was he pleased that hours for play design'd<br>Were given to ease his ever-troubled mind;<br>The child still listen'd with increasing joy,<br>And he was sooth'd by the attentive boy.<br>At length he sicken'd, and this duteous child<br>Watch'd o'er his sickness, and his pains beguiled;<br>The mother bade him from the loft refrain,<br>But, though with caution, yet he went again;<br>And now his tales the Sailor feebly told,<br>His heart was heavy, and his limbs were cold:<br>The tender boy came often to entreat<br>His good kind friend would of his presents eat;<br>Purloin'd or purchased, for he saw, with shame,<br>The food untouch'd that to his uncle came;<br>Who, sick in body and in mind, received<br>The boy's indulgence, gratified and grieved.<br>'Uncle will die!' said George: --the piteous </div><div style="margin:10px 0">wife<br>Exclaim'd, 'she saw no value in his life;<br>But, sick or well, to my commands attend,<br>And go no more to your complaining friend.'<br>The boy was vex'd, he felt his heart reprove<br>The stern decree.--What! punish'd for his love!<br>No! he would go, but softly, to the room,<br>Stealing in silence--for he knew his doom.<br>Once in a week the father came to say,<br>'George, are you ill?' and hurried him away;<br>Yet to his wife would on their duties dwell,<br>And often cry, 'Do use my brother well:'<br>And something kind, no question, Isaac meant,<br>Who took vast credit for the vague intent.<br>But, truly kind, the gentle boy essay'd<br>To cheer his uncle, firm, although afraid;<br>But now the father caught him at the door,<br>And, swearing--yes, the man in office swore,<br>And cried, 'Away! How! Brother, I'm surprised<br>That one so old can be so ill advised:<br>Let him not dare to visit you again,<br>Your cursed stories will disturb his brain;<br>Is it not vile to court a foolish boy,<br>Your own absurd narrations to enjoy?<br>What! sullen!--ha, George Fletcher! you shall see,<br>Proud as you are, your bread depends on me!'<br>He spoke, and, frowning, to his dinner went,<br>Then cool'd and felt some qualms of discontent:<br>And thought on times when he compell'd his son<br>To hear these stories, nay, to beg for one;<br>But the wife's wrath o'ercame the brother's pain,<br>And shame was felt, and conscience rose, in vain.<br>George yet stole up; he saw his Uncle lie<br>Sick on the bed, and heard his heavy sigh;<br>So he resolved, before he went to rest,<br>To comfort one so dear and so distressed;<br>Then watch'd his time, but, with a child-like art,<br>Betray'd a something treasured at his heart:<br>Th' observant wife remark'd, 'The boy is grown<br>So like your brother, that he seems his own:<br>So close and sullen! and I still suspect<br>They often meet: --do watch them and detect.'<br>George now remark'd that all was still as night,<br>And hasten'd up with terror and delight;<br>'Uncle!' he cried, and softly tapp'd the door,<br>Do let me in'--but he could add no more;<br>The careful father caught him in the fact,<br>And cried,--'You serpent! is it thus you act?<br>'Back to your mother!'--and, with hasty blow,<br>He sent th' indignant boy to grieve below;<br>Then at the door an angry speech began -<br>'Is this your conduct?--Is it thus you plan?<br>Seduce my child, and make my house a scene<br>Of vile dispute--What is it that you mean?<br>George, are you dumb? do learn to know your </div><div style="margin:10px 0">friends,<br>And think a while on whom your bread depends.<br>What! not a word? be thankful I am cool -<br>But, sir, beware, nor longer play the fool.<br>Come! brother, come! what is it that you seek<br>By this rebellion?--Speak, you villain, speak!<br>Weeping! I warrant--sorrow makes you dumb:<br>I'll ope your mouth, impostor! if I come:<br>Let me approach--I'll shake you from the bed,<br>You stubborn dog--Oh God! my Brother's dead!'<br>Timid was Isaac, and in all the past<br>He felt a purpose to be kind at last:<br>Nor did he mean his brother to depart,<br>Till he had shown this kindness of his heart;<br>But day by day he put the cause aside,<br>Induced by av'rice, peevishness, or pride.<br>But now awaken'd, from this fatal time<br>His conscience Isaac felt, and found his crime:<br>He raised to George a monumental stone,<br>And there retired to sigh and think alone;<br>An ague seized him, he grew pale, and shook -<br>'So,' said his son, 'would my poor Uncle look.'<br>'And so, my child, shall I like him expire.'<br>'No! you have physic and a cheerful fire.'<br>'Unhappy sinner! yes, I'm well supplied<br>With every comfort my cold heart denied.'<br>He view'd his Brother now, but not as one<br>Who vex'd his wife by fondness for her son;<br>Not as with wooden limb, and seaman's tale,<br>The odious pipe, vile grog, or humbler ale:<br>He now the worth and grief alone can view<br>Of one so mild, so generous, and so true;<br>'The frank, kind Brother, with such open heart, -<br>And I to break it--'twas a demon's part!'<br>So Isaac now, as led by conscience, feels,<br>Nor his unkindness palliates or conceals;<br>'This is your folly,' said his heartless wife:<br>'Alas! my folly cost my Brother's life;<br>It suffer'd him to languish and decay -<br>My gentle Brother, whom I could not pay,<br>And therefore left to pine, and fret his life away</div><div style="margin:10px 0">!'<br>He takes his Son, and bids the boy unfold<br>All the good Uncle of his feelings told,<br>All he lamented--and the ready tear<br>Falls as he listens, soothed, and grieved to hear.<br>'Did he not curse me, child?'--'He never cursed,<br>But could not breathe, and said his heart would </div><div style="margin:10px 0">burst.'<br>'And so will mine:'--'Then, father, you must pray:<br>My uncle said it took his pains away.'<br>Repeating thus his sorrows, Isaac shows<br>That he, repenting, feels the debt he owes,<br>And from this source alone his every comfort flows.<br>He takes no joy in office, honours, gain;<br>They make him humble, nay, they give him pain:<br>'These from my heart,' he cries, 'all feeling </div><div style="margin:10px 0">drove;<br>They made me cold to nature, dead to love.'<br>He takes no joy in home, but sighing, sees<br>A son in sorrow, and a wife at ease;<br>He takes no joy in office--see him now,<br>And Burgess Steel has but a passing bow;<br>Of one sad train of gloomy thoughts possess'd,<br>He takes no joy in friends, in food, in rest -<br>Dark are the evil days, and void of peace the best.<br>And thus he lives, if living be to sigh,<br>And from all comforts of the world to fly,<br>Without a hope in life--without a wish to 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> <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=395906" data-title="Tale XX de George Crabbe" data-description="THE BROTHERS. Than old George Fletcher, on the British coast Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast: Kind, simple and sincere--he seldom spoke, But sometimes sang and chorus'd--'Hearts of Oak:' In dangers steady, with his lot content, His days ..."></div> </div> </div>

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