Thus, though elect, I feel it hard
To lose what I possess'd before,
To be from all my wealth debarr'd,—
The brave Sir Eustace is no more:
But old I wax and passing poor,

Stern, rugged men my conduct view; They chide my wish, they bar my door, 'Tis hard-I weep-you see I do.—

Must you, my friends, no longer stay?
Thus quickly all my pleasures end;
But I'll remember, when I pray,

My kind physician and his friend;
And those sad hours, you deign to spend
With me, I shall requite them all;
Sir Eustace for his friends shall send,
And thank their love at Greyling Hall.

VISITOR.

The poor Sir Eustace!-Yet his hope
Leads him to think of joys again;
And when his earthly visions droop,

His views of heavenly kind remain :But whence that meek and humbled strain, That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd?

Would not so proud a soul disdain
The madness of the poorest mind?

PHYSICIAN.

No! for the more he swell'd with pride,
The more he felt misfortune's blow;
Disgrace and grief he could not hide,
And poverty had laid him low:

Thus shame and sorrow working slow,
At length this humble spirit gave;
Madness on these began to grow,

And bound him to his fiends a slave.

Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain, Then was he free :-So, forth he ran;

To soothe or threat, alike were vain :

He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan;

Year after year, the hurried man

Obey'd those fiends from place to place;

Till his religious change began

To form a frenzied child of grace.

For, as the fury lost its strength,

The mind reposed; by slow degrees
Came lingering hope, and brought at length,
To the tormented spirit, ease:

This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize,
Felt or believed their power had end ;-
"'Tis faith," he cried, "my bosom frees,
And now my SAVIOUR is my friend.”

But ah! though time can yield relief,
And soften woes it cannot cure;
Would we not suffer pain and grief,

To have our reason sound and sure?
Then let us keep our bosoms pure,

Our fancy's favourite flights suppress; Prepare the body to endure,

And bend the mind to meet distress; And then HIS guardian care implore,

Whom demons dread and men adore.

ORIGINAL MS. VARIATIONS.

(SIR EUSTACE GREY.)

I Who comes?-Approach !-'tis kindly done The worthy doctor, and a friend, 'Tis more than kind to visit one

Who has not now to spare or spend,

2 Worms, doctor, worms, and so are we.

3 [Here follows in the original MS. :Madman! shall He who made this all, The parts that form the whole reject? Is aught with him so great or small, He cannot punish or protect? Man's folly may his crimes neglect, And hope the eye of God to shun; But there's of all the account correct,Not one omitted,-no, not one.]

4 Nay, frown not-chide not-but allow
Pity to one so sorely tried:
But I am calm-to fate I bow,

And all the storms of life abide.

5 Yes, I have felt all man can feel,
Till he shall pay his nature's debt;
Ills that no medicines can heal,

And griefs that no man can forget;
Whatever cares the mind can fret,

The spirits wear, the bosom gall, Pain, hunger, prison, duns, and debt, Foul-fiends and fear,—I've felt ye all.

THE BOROUGH.

1810.

GEORGE CRABBE.

I.

THE SEA.

FROM LETTER 1.

(1834 Edition.)

I. CALM.

URN to the watery world !-but who to thee

TURN

(A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint-the Sea?

Various and vast, sublime in all its forms,

When lull'd by zephyrs, or when roused by storms,
Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun
Shades after shades upon the surface run;
Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene,
In limpid blue, and evanescent green;
And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie,

Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye.

Be it the Summer noon: a sandy space
The ebbing tide has left upon its place;
Then just the hot and stony beach above,

Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move;
(For heated thus, the warmer air ascends,
And with the cooler in its fall contends)—
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps
An equal motion; swelling as it sleeps,
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand,
Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand,

Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow,
And back return in silence, smooth and slow.
Ships in the calm seem anchor'd; for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide :
Art thou not present, this calm scene before,
Where all beside is pebbly length of shore,
And far as eye can reach, it can discern no more!
Yet sometimes comes a ruffling cloud to make
The quiet surface of the ocean shake;

As an awaken'd giant with a frown

Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down.

II. STORM.

View now the Winter storm! above, one cloud,
Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud;
Th' unwieldy porpoise through the day before
Had roll'd in view of boding men on shore;
And sometimes hid and sometimes show'd his form,
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm.

All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam,
The breaking billows cast the flying foam

Upon the billows rising-all the deep

In restless change; the waves so swell'd and steep,
Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells,
Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells:
But nearer land you may the billows trace,
As if contending in their watery chase;
May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach,
Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch;
Curl'd as they come, they strike with furious force,
And then re-flowing, take their grating course,
Raking the rounded flints, which ages past
Roll'd by their rage, and shall to ages last,