The Project Gutenberg eBook of George Crabbe Poems Vol. III

[SUSAN AND HER LOVERS.]

The Miller’s Son, a foolish Boy who ran
From his dull home, returned a favourite Man;
And not a Daughter of the Village view’d
The Handsome Youth, but Wishes would intrude.
His person all that charms a vacant Eye;
His Air what vacant Minds are fetter’d by;
His Song enchanting, and his manners free;
A dangerous youth in Village Wakes was he!
To all that Nature gave in form or face
He added all that Heroes gain of Grace—      
Not all that Grace for Stanhope’s self had done,
But what suffic’d to raise the Miller’s Son;
To make him first, where many a Youth was seen,
Th’ accomplish’d Chesterfield of Stanton Green.
The good old Father blest his lucky Lot
And all his Darling’s early Sins forgot;
These “youthful Follies” he was pleas’d to call,
And fondly prais’d the feasted prodigal.
He ask’d no Questions: where the youth had gain’d      
What pleas’d so many and what some had pain’d;      
He saw not—thought not—if the Soul were stain’d;      
Vice was not written on the front, nor where
Those Locks appeared so carelessly with Care.
He saw him sprightly, active, ardent, brave,
Nor found in one so free his passions’ Slave;
Knew not the daring Wishes he obey’d,
The Friend deluded and the ruin’d Maid;
Knew not the Sums the absent Hero spent,
What means acquir’d them, or for what they went;
None saw in him, so form’d [midst men] to shine,      
The Wretch whom Sin compell’d to herd with Swine.
Yet in that Person there were some who found
The hidden Scars of many a former Wound—
Not gain’d by Valour’s Chance in noble Wars,
But vulgar Signs and ignominious Scars.
And there were some, whose hint of grosser kind,
Or true or false, betray’d the Envious Mind.
It could not be but Youth so gay and vain
Should strive the loveliest of her Sex to gain;
And sure it added Spur to the pursuit,      
When the fair prize was called forbidden fruit.
There are who feel a triumph with the Joy,
When their Success another’s peace destroy;
When they Contrition with Desire impart
And break a Contract, while they win a heart.
The greatest pleasures that the Vicious know
From a large mixture of Injustice flow;
Before the jaded Sinner drinks it up,
There must be fire and poison in the Cup.
A mutual pleasure lulls the Wretch to sleep;      
He loves th’ Enjoyment, where his Victims weep;
Who, fond yet wretched, with indignant Eyes
Spell Rage with Love, and when they bless, despise;
Who both their Weakness and their Virtue prove,
And scorn the Lover, while they yield to Love.
Our Hero in the Army learn’d some Skill,
Where he had past a kind of twofold Drill:
First, in the Field, where he for War was train’d,
And in the Tent, where he Assurance gain’d;
Knowledge of Life, and Life’s superior Bliss,      
And Soldiers’ Comforts in a World like this.
When first the Youth address’d the Village Maid,
He but the Impulse of his pride obey’d;
But when he knew her an affianc’d Bride,
A rival’s Grief increas’d th’ heroic Pride.

[Susan’s first lover Joseph expostulates.]

“Then, dear my Susan, let me now advise,      
Upon this handsome Soldier shut your eyes!      
Nay, shed no more these tears, nay, now suppress these Sighs!      
Think not a Tyrant in your Joseph lives;
More than his Life in giving you he gives,      
And yet will give; but oh! let me enquire;
If he deserve you, he must needs admire.”
Susan agree’d, but not without a fear;
And his report was prudent and sincere.
He could assure her that he would not lie
To gain the Hand for which he dar’d to die;
And he was sorry to report the Truth,
For that was not in Favour of the Youth.
First, that he drank and lov’d to sit and prate
At the new Inn upon his Chair of State,      
Making the Clowns about him in Surprise
Stare at improbable and boasting Lies.
He no Religion in the World profest,
But made the parson and the Church his jest.
He talk’d of Women with unworthy Mind,
As if they all were wickedly inclin’d;
Spinster or married, he declar’d, not one
Could his Addresses and Advances shun,
And all the difference he could ever trace
Between the Girls in Credit and Disgrace      
Was, that the former were demure and tried,
What their free Sisters never fear’d, to hide.
“Such are his Manners; such I fear his Life—
And can he merit Virtue for a Wife?”
Poor Susan sigh’d; she cried; she did not think
That Mr Frank was so dispos’d to drink;
He was intic’d, and that she knew full well,
By them that lov’d the Stories he could tell—
Things strange to us indeed upon the Green;
But they that travel have such wonders seen!      
’Twas very wicked, that must be confest,
To make Religion and the Church a Jest;
But wicked Masters, she had heard, discours’d
Before their Servants and such things enforc’d.
Young, and in Camp, and looking up to them,
He might be pardon’d—tho’ she must condemn.
’Tis true his vile Opinion of her Sex
Vex’d her at Heart, but was not [meant] to vex;
There were such Women, that was true enough,
And that provok’d the Men to talk such Stuff;      
Still, there is too much Licence in his Tongue
And in his Conduct—but he now is young.

[A long passage follows, only very partially legible, ending with the following lines:]

’Tis hard to say what fears and troubles rose
In Susan’s breast, each other to oppose!
Absent the Father, Lover, Friend, she fear’d
For each in turn, and all were more endear’d;
And much she griev’d, that Men she lov’d so well
Could not in Comfort with each other dwell.
Poor Susan then forth hurried, with a Dread
Of Unknown Evil pending o’er her Head!      
’Twas in a luckless Hour, when Joseph’s Mind
Was full of Care, he anything but kind;
When he look’d back upon the Days serene
That he and Susan had together seen,
[Ere] this free Soldier his fair Maid address’d
And broke with Dreams of Bliss the [wonted] rest.
Yet had he past the Sign, nor turn’d again
For Speech insulting nor for threat’ning vain,
Had not the Youth, contemptuous, from the Inn
Reach’d him, resolv’d a Quarrel to begin:      
“Come, stay, my Hero, and determine now
To whom fair Susan shall engage her Vow!
Win her and wear her; fight for or decline;
Begin the battle, or the Bride is mine!”
“Coxcomb!” said Joseph; and by force he free’d
His captive Arm and hasten’d to proceed.
“‘Coxcomb!’” said Francis; “you shall quickly know
The force and Value of a ‘Coxcomb’s’ blow!”
“A Ring! a Ring!” for now a gathering Crowd
Had vulgar and tumultuous Joy avow’d.      
“If the Great Cesar had presum’d to Call,
Him and his Mirmidons—I’d face them all!
But first I will wipe off this foul Disgrace,
And bring the Blush of shame upon thy face.”
And [on] the Instant, as he ceas’d to speak,
He struck th’ insulted Joseph on the Cheek.
For Frank was one who Lectures never mist
On all the glorious Science of the fist,
Nor wanted Courage for the noble Strife,
And would have fought for Glory or a Wife.      
Here too he saw a Foe who could not boast
Of more than Courage and plain strength at most;
“And this,” said he, “the Maiden’s Heart must gain:
Success and Courage never plead in vain.”
With open palm he struck, and hasten’d then
To the warm Conflict of experienc’d Men;
For he was train’d in both the useful Arts
Of breaking Heroes’ Ribs and Women’s Hearts.
Joseph tho’ patient, [now] the blow was dealt
[Both] coming Shame and rising Vengeance felt.      
“Scoundrel!” he cried, and yet for patience strove,
By Nature form’d for Harmony and Love;
But, urg’d by Insult of the grossest kind,
He gave to Vengeance and to War his Mind.
He knew his Rival’s Strength, his boasted art,
And saw the soulless Crowd upon his part;
He wanted Skill, he car’d not for Applause;
But he had Courage and the better Cause.
There was one friend of Joseph, one indeed
Almost unknown and now a friend in need,      
With whom nor Time nor Cash he deign’d to spend—
The Landlord of the Bell was Joseph’s friend.
But why this Love? for Francis was in Truth,
His Father witness’d, [an] expensive Youth;
And all he spent, as all the Green could tell,
Save short Excursions, all was at the Bell.
But, when the Landlord would at Night repair
To the fair Wife and to the favourite Chair,
He found the Chair wherein he sang and drank
Still near[er] plac’d, and fill’d by Mr Frank;      
And from such Trifle—strange as it appears—
Harry was harried by an Husband’s fears.
He wish’d that Joseph by some lucky blow
Might lay the Hero of the people low;
It would have pleas’d him to have told his Wife
How the poor youth had struggled for his life.
For Harry’s Malice was of fatal kind;
He had no milky Softness in his Mind;
His Love and Favour from his Hatred rose;
His Friend was help’d, his Rival to oppose.      
Muse of my Choice and Mistress of my Time,
Who leav’st the gay, the grand, and the sublime—
These who without an Atmosphere are known,
And paintest Creatures just as they are shown:
Say, can’st thou ken the Science of the Fist
And know the Language of the Pugilist?
Not so, alas! What Glory had we found,
Could’st thou have sweetly sung of every Round?
Well! but we saw, and briefly can declare,
The Blows’ Effect, if not what Blows they were.      
First, strong in Ale and Anger Frank appear’d,
Already Conqueror by the Rabble cheer’d;
Who, when the weaker Man is driv’n about
And Soul and Body hurt, insulting shout;
When the elated Victor stares around,
His Ears are tickled with th’ applauding sound;
[While] the poor Wretch who sobs upon the Earth
Hears the unfeeling Rabble’s mad’ning Mirth.
But Joseph, patient and with patience strong,
Felt not the Insult, nor perceiv’d it long.      
Warm’d in the war, the clamour he disdain’d,
And half the Victory by his Temper gain’d.
He saw the rage of youth; he saw the pride,
And felt that both would lessen or subside;
His Tendons stiff grew pliant by the use
That relaxation in the young produce;
And, when he grew more eager for the fight,
It did not yield his Rival such delight.
When he could bravely in the Action mix,
He backward drew with scientific Tricks,      
And watched and waited, till in Harry’s face
He saw a Smile betok’ning his Disgrace.
And now had Victory crown’d the juster Cause,
And patient Virtue gain’d the fond Applause—
For even Virtue when it meets Success
Will Crowds Applaud, altho’ they love it less.
A Round was over, and our Soldier found
No Inclination for another Round;
But Shame compell’d and Hatred, and he flew
To end his work, and was successful too.      
By one dread blow on his unguarded Side
Poor Joseph fell, and, “he is gone,” they cry’d.
“Foul and dishonest!” said the Friends of Truth;
“Lawful and fair!” th’ Abettors of the Youth.
Or fair or foul, the now unhappy Man
Was lost, and the victorious Champion ran,
He knew not where, the army in his Sight,
And Susan fond companion of his flight.
Just to his Wish and in his Way, the Maid
Was with her friend dejected and afraid;      
Sad her Conjectures, and she hasten’d on
Till Strength and Life and Thought and Hope were gone.
A fallen Tree receiv’d her, and she wept,
Till Nature fainted and Sensation slept.—
“Arise, my Charmer, Mistress of my Heart;
Share in my Joy, and never will we part!
Thine old pretender has presum’d to try
Our right in Battle—we awhile must fly.
Come then, my Beauty; and to-morrow’s Sun,
That shews thee lovely, shall behold us one.”      
Affrighted Susan heard th’ imperfect boast;
“And Joseph dead?”—“Disabled, love, at most.
But, tho’ no Laws could my fair Deeds condemn,
Their Laws have agents, and I fly from them.
The Man will live, but he demands his Bed,
And thy kind Father will support his Head;
[Meanwhile], sweet Susan, shall thy Charms repose
In Arms destructive only to our foes.”
“Injur’d and dying!” said the Maid, “and I
Th’ accursed Cause! Go, Man of Terror, fly!      
I dream’d of one like thee, but he was kind
And did no Murder! Go, thy Safety find!
Where is my Father?” and, of Soul bereft,
She rose and sought the Cottage she had left.
In vain the Youth intreated—vainly tried
Alarm; his Words rejected or despised.
Yet still he follow’d, but at Distance saw
The Father’s Cot that forc’d him to withdraw.
Borne to his Bed, th’ unhappy Joseph found
The wounded Mind inflam’d his Body’s wound;      
Deeply he griev’d to think a Youth so vile
And so deprav’d must win his Susan’s smile;
[That] this vindictive Stroke should Victory gain
And all his Hope and Courage be in vain!
“And is it then a World where none can trust
On Truth and Virtue—’tis a World unjust!”
Sorely he griev’d, till Sleep a short suspense
Gave to his Sorrow and overcame the Sense.
E’en in his Dream he saw his Rival blest
With the false Maid, and anguish broke his rest—      
Anguish no more, for watchful at his bed
He saw the Maid, by genuine pity led.

’Twas fond Esteem! and that immoral boy
She now despis’d and his accursed Joy.
[Ere] yet the wicked Vengeance she was told,
The vile Avenger she could ill behold,
And, as he urg’d his prayer, indignant grew,
And all her fondness [and her faith] withdrew.
Joseph she saw, his Virtues and his Worth,
And Love from grateful Sorrow took his Birth.      
He had her pity, her Esteem, before,
When he was glad—he suffer’d, and had more;
Nor Groan escap’d him, but it touch’d the Maid,
Who, as he did not, would herself upbraid.
Advis’d, the Father, when he saw her Care,
Forbore to urge her and agreed to spare;
And the sick-room was made a mild retreat
For rising Hope and opening Love to meet.
Then Joseph told her he could yet forgive,
Would Frank reform, and they in joy might live;      
While he—“Oh! speak not!” [quickly] she replied,
“Thine will I be, and that will be my pride!
It was a foolish Thought, a Fancy fled,
A Dream dissolv’d—the very wish is dead.
I thought that all things yielded to my Youth,
And follow’d Fancy till she fled from Truth;
Now I behold thee virtuous, as thou art,
Nor yield Esteem more freely than my Heart,
And him the worthless being he appears,
Taught to create our Terrors and our tears.”      