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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395921" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Borough. Letter XIII: The Alms-House And Trustees</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">LEAVE now our streets, and in yon plain behold<br>Those pleasant Seats for the reduced and old;<br>A merchant's gift, whose wife and children died,<br>When he to saving all his powers applied;<br>He wore his coat till bare was every thread,<br>And with the meanest fare his body fed.<br>He had a female cousin, who with care<br>Walk'd in his steps, and learn'd of him to spare;<br>With emulation and success they strove,<br>Improving still, still seeking to improve,<br>As if that useful knowledge they would gain -<br>How little food would human life sustain:<br>No pauper came their table's crumbs to crave;<br>Scraping they lived, but not a scrap they gave:<br>When beggars saw the frugal Merchant pass,<br>It moved their pity, and they said, 'Alas!<br>Hard is thy fate my brother,' and they felt<br>A beggar's pride as they that pity dealt.<br>The dogs, who learn of man to scorn the poor,<br>Bark'd him away from every decent door;<br>While they who saw him bare, but thought him rich,<br>To show respect or scorn, they knew not which.<br>But while our Merchant seemed so base and mean,<br>He had his wanderings, sometimes 'not unseen;'<br>To give in secret was a favourite act,<br>Yet more than once they took him in the fact<br>To scenes of various woe he nightly went,<br>And serious sums in healing misery spent;<br>Oft has he cheer'd the wretched at a rate<br>For which he daily might have dined on plate;<br>He has been seen--his hair all silver-white,<br>Shaking and shining--as he stole by night,<br>To feed unenvied on his still delight.<br>A twofold taste he had; to give and spare,<br>Both were his duties, and had equal care;<br>It was his joy to sit alone and fast,<br>Then send a widow and her boys repast:<br>Tears in his eyes would spite of him appear,<br>But he from other eyes has kept the tear:<br>All in a wint'ry night from far he came,<br>To soothe the sorrows of a suffering dame;<br>Whose husband robb'd him, and to whom he meant<br>A ling'ring, but reforming punishment:<br>Home then he walked, and found his anger rise<br>When fire and rushlight met his troubled eyes;<br>But these extinguish'd, and his prayer address'd<br>To Heaven in hope, he calmly sank to rest.<br>His seventieth year was pass'd and then was seen<br>A building rising on the northern green;<br>There was no blinding all his neighbours' eyes,<br>Or surely no one would have seen it rise:<br>Twelve rooms contiguous stood, and six were near,<br>There men were placed, and sober matrons here:<br>There were behind small useful gardens made,<br>Benches before, and trees to give them shade;<br>In the first room were seen above, below,<br>Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show.<br>The founder's picture and his arms were there<br>(Not till he left us), and an elbow'd chair;<br>There, 'mid these signs of his superior place,<br>Sat the mild ruler of this humble race.<br>Within the row are men who strove in vain,<br>Through years of trouble, wealth and ease to gain;<br>Less must they have than an appointed sum,<br>And freemen been, or hither must not come;<br>They should be decent, and command respect,<br>(Though needing fortune), whom these doors protect,<br>And should for thirty dismal years have tried<br>For peace unfelt and competence denied.<br>Strange! that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">school,<br>Power must be held, and they must live by rule;<br>Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,<br>Their habits settled and their passions cold;<br>Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares bereft,<br>Still must they not at liberty be left;<br>There must be one to rule them, to restrain<br>And guide the movements of his erring train.<br>If then control imperious, check severe,<br>Be needed where such reverend men appear;<br>To what would youth, without such checks, aspire,<br>Free the wild wish, uncurb'd the strong desire?<br>And where (in college or in camp) they found<br>The heart ungovern'd and the hand unbound?<br>His house endow'd, the generous man resign'd<br>All power to rule, nay power of choice declined;<br>He and the female saint survived to view<br>Their work complete, and bade the world adieu!<br>Six are the Guardians of this happy seat,<br>And one presides when they on business meet;<br>As each expires, the five a brother choose;<br>Nor would Sir Denys Brand the charge refuse;<br>True, 'twas beneath him, 'but to do men good<br>Was motive never by his heart withstood:'<br>He too is gone, and they again must strive<br>To find a man in whom his gifts survive.<br>Now, in the various records of the dead,<br>Thy worth, Sir Denys, shall be weigh'd and read;<br>There we the glory of thy house shall trace,<br>With each alliance of thy noble race.<br>Yes! here we have him!--'Came in William's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">reign,<br>The Norman Brand; the blood without a stain;<br>From the fierce Dane and ruder Saxon clear,<br>Pict, Irish, Scot, or Cambrian mountaineer:<br>But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,<br>And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king:<br>Erect in person and so firm in soul,<br>Fortune he seem'd to govern and control:<br>Generous as he who gives his all away,<br>Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;<br>In him all merits were decreed to meet,<br>Sincere though cautious, frank and yet discreet,<br>Just all his dealings, faithful every word,<br>His passions' master, and his temper's lord.'<br>Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame?<br>His magnanimity you next proclaim;<br>You give him learning, join'd with sound good </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sense,<br>And match his wealth with his benevolence;<br>What hides the multitude of sins, you add,<br>Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had.<br>Poor honest Truth! thou writ'st of living men,<br>And art a railer and detractor then;<br>They die, again to be described, and now<br>A foe to merit and mankind art thou!<br>Why banish Truth? It injures not the dead,<br>It aids not them with flattery to be fed;<br>And when mankind such perfect pictures view,<br>They copy less, the more they think them true.<br>Let us a mortal as he was behold,<br>And see the dross adhering to the gold;<br>When we the errors of the virtuous state,<br>Then erring men their worth may emulate.<br>View then this picture of a noble mind,<br>Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind;<br>What was the wisdom? Was it not the frown<br>That keeps all question, all inquiry down?<br>His words were powerful and decisive all,<br>But his slow reasons came for no man's call.<br>''Tis thus,' he cried, no doubt with kind intent,<br>To give results and spare all argument: -<br>'Let it be spared--all men at least agree<br>Sir Denys Brand had magnanimity:<br>His were no vulgar charities; none saw<br>Him like the Merchant to the hut withdraw;<br>He left to meaner minds the simple deed,<br>By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed<br>His was a public bounty vast and grand,<br>'Twas not in him to work with viewless hand;<br>He raised the Room that towers above the street,<br>A public room where grateful parties meet;<br>He first the Life-boat plann'd; to him the place<br>Is deep in debt--'twas he revived the Race;<br>To every public act this hearty friend<br>Would give with freedom or with frankness lend;<br>His money built the Jail, nor prisoner yet<br>Sits at his ease, but he must feel the debt;<br>To these let candour add his vast display;<br>Around his mansion all is grand and gay,<br>And this is bounty with the name of pay.'<br>I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,<br>But wish recorded too the private act:<br>All these were great, but still our hearts approve<br>Those simpler tokens of the Christian love;<br>'Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet<br>That has not call'd for glory through the street:<br>Who felt for many, could not always shun,<br>In some soft moment, to be kind to one;<br>And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died,<br>That not a widow in the Borough sigh'd;<br>Great were his gifts, his mighty heart I own,<br>But why describe what all the world has known?<br>The rest is petty pride, the useless art<br>Of a vain mind to hide a swelling heart:<br>Small was his private room: men found him there<br>By a plain table, on a paltry chair;<br>A wretched floor-cloth, and some prints around,<br>The easy purchase of a single pound:<br>These humble trifles and that study small<br>Make a strong contrast with the servants' hall;<br>There barely comfort, here a proud excess,<br>The pompous seat of pamper'd idleness,<br>Where the sleek rogues with one consent declare,<br>They would not live upon his honour's fare;<br>He daily took but one half hour to dine,<br>On one poor dish and some three sips of wine;<br>Then he'd abuse them for their sumptuous feasts,<br>And say, 'My friends! you make yourselves like </div><div style="margin:10px 0">beasts;<br>One dish suffices any man to dine,<br>But you are greedy as a herd of swine;<br>Learn to be temperate.'--Had they dared t'obey,<br>He would have praised and turn'd them all away.<br>Friends met Sir Denys riding in his ground,<br>And there the meekness of his spirit found:<br>For that gray coat, not new for many a year,<br>Hides all that would like decent dress appear;<br>An old brown pony 'twas his will to ride,<br>Who shuffled onward, and from side to side;<br>A five-pound purchase, but so fat and sleek,<br>His very plenty made the creature weak.<br>'Sir Denys Brand! and on so poor a steed!'<br>'Poor! it may be--such things I never heed:'<br>And who that youth behind, of pleasant mien,<br>Equipped as one who wishes to be seen,<br>Upon a horse, twice victor for a plate,<br>A noble hunter, bought at dearest rate? -<br>Him the lad fearing yet resolved to guide,<br>He curbs his spirit while he strokes his pride.<br>'A handsome youth, Sir Denys; and a horse<br>Of finer figure never trod the course, -<br>Yours, without question?'--'Yes! I think a groom<br>Bought me the beast; I cannot say the sum<br>I ride him not; it is a foolish pride<br>Men have in cattle--but my people ride;<br>The boy is--hark ye, sirrah! what's your name?<br>Ay, Jacob, yes! I recollect--the same;<br>As I bethink me now, a tenant's son -<br>I think a tenant,--is your father one?'<br>There was an idle boy who ran about,<br>And found his master's humble spirit out;<br>He would at awful distance snatch a look,<br>Then run away and hide him in some nook;<br>'For oh!' quoth he, 'I dare not fix my sight<br>On him, his grandeur puts me in a fright;<br>Oh! Mister Jacob, when you wait on him,<br>Do you not quake and tremble every limb?'<br>The Steward soon had orders--'Summers, see<br>That Sam be clothed, and let him wait on me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">---------------------</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir Denys died, bequeathing all affairs<br>In trust to Laughton's long-experienced cares;<br>Before a Guardian, and Sir Denys dead,<br>All rule and power devolved upon his head,<br>Numbers are call'd to govern, but in fact<br>Only the powerful and assuming act.<br>Laughton, too wise to be a dupe to fame,<br>Cared not a whit of what descent he came,<br>Till he was rich; he then conceived the thought<br>To fish for pedigree, but never caught:<br>All his desire, when he was young and poor,<br>Was to advance; he never cared for more:<br>'Let me buy, sell, be factor, take a wife,<br>Take any road, to get along in life.'<br>Was he a miser then? a robber? foe<br>To those who trusted? a deceiver?--No!<br>He was ambitious; all his powers of mind<br>Were to one end controll'd, improved, combined;<br>Wit, learning, judgment, were, by his account,<br>Steps for the ladder he design'd to mount;<br>Such step was money: wealth was but his slave,<br>For power he gain'd it, and for power he gave:<br>Full well the Borough knows that he'd the art<br>Of bringing money to the surest mart;<br>Friends too were aids,--they led to certain ends,<br>Increase of power and claim on other friends.<br>A favourite step was marriage: then he gain'd<br>Seat in our Hall, and o'er his party reign'd;<br>Houses and land he bought, and long'd to buy,<br>But never drew the springs of purchase dry,<br>And thus at last they answer'd every call,<br>The failing found him ready for their fall:<br>He walks along the street, the mart, the quay,<br>And looks and mutters, 'This belongs to me.'<br>His passions all partook the general bent;<br>Interest inform'd him when he should resent,<br>How long resist, and on what terms relent:<br>In points where he determined to succeed,<br>In vain might reason or compassion plead;<br>But gain'd his point, he was the best of men,<br>'Twas loss of time to be vexatious then:<br>Hence he was mild to all men whom he led,<br>Of all who dared resist, the scourge and dread.<br>Falsehood in him was not the useless lie<br>Of boasting pride or laughing vanity:<br>It was the gainful, the persuading art,<br>That made its way and won the doubting heart,<br>Which argued, soften'd, humbled, and prevail'd,<br>Nor was it tried till ev'ry truth had fail'd;<br>No sage on earth could more than he despise<br>Degrading, poor, unprofitable lies.<br>Though fond of gain, and grieved by wanton </div><div style="margin:10px 0">waste,<br>To social parties he had no distaste;<br>With one presiding purpose in his view,<br>He sometimes could descend to trifle too!<br>Yet, in these moments, he had still the art<br>To ope the looks and close the guarded heart;<br>And, like the public host, has sometimes made<br>A grand repast, for which the guests have paid.<br>At length, with power endued and wealthy grown,<br>Frailties and passions, long suppress'd, were </div><div style="margin:10px 0">shown:<br>Then to provoke him was a dangerous thing,<br>His pride would punish, and his temper sting;<br>His powerful hatred sought th' avenging hour,<br>And his proud vengeance struck with all his power,<br>Save when th' offender took a prudent way<br>The rising storm of fury to allay:<br>This might he do, and so in safety sleep,<br>By largely casting to the angry deep;<br>Or, better yet (its swelling force t'assuage),<br>By pouring oil of flattery on its rage.<br>And now, of all the heart approved, possess'd,<br>Fear'd, favour'd, follow'd, dreaded, and caress'd,<br>He gently yields to one mellifluous joy,<br>The only sweet that is not found to cloy,<br>Bland adulation!--other pleasures pall<br>On the sick taste, and transient are they all;<br>But this one sweet has such enchanting power,<br>The more we take, the faster we devour:<br>Nauseous to those who must the dose apply,<br>And most disgusting to the standers-by;<br>Yet in all companies will Laughton feed,<br>Nor care how grossly men perform the deed.<br>As gapes the nursling, or, what comes more near,<br>Some Friendly-Island chief, for hourly cheer;<br>When wives and slaves, attending round his seat,<br>Prepare by turns the masticated meat;<br>So for this master, husband, parent, friend,<br>His ready slaves their various efforts blend,<br>And, to their lord still eagerly inclined,<br>Pour the crude trash of a dependent mind.<br>But let the Muse assign the man his due,<br>Worth he possess'd, nor were his virtues few: -<br>He sometimes help'd the injured in their cause;<br>His power and purse have back'd the failing laws;<br>He for religion has a due respect,<br>And all his serious notions, are correct;<br>Although he pray'd and languish'd for a son,<br>He grew resign'd when Heaven denied him one;<br>He never to this quiet mansion sends<br>Subject unfit, in compliment to friends;<br>Not so Sir Denys, who would yet protest<br>He always chose the worthiest and the best:<br>Not men in trade by various loss brought down,<br>But those whose glory once amazed the town,<br>Who their last guinea in their pleasures spent,<br>Yet never fell so low as to repent:<br>To these his pity he could largely deal,<br>Wealth they had known, and therefore want could </div><div style="margin:10px 0">feel.<br>Three seats were vacant while Sir Denys reign'd,<br>And three such favourites their admission gain'd;<br>These let us view, still more to understand<br>The moral feelings of Sir Denys Brand.</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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Those pleasant Seats for the reduced and old;
A merchant's gift, whose wife and children died,
When he to saving all his powers applied;
He wore his coat till bare was every thread,
And with the meane..."></div>
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