CRABBE. THE SANDS. TURN to the watery world!—but who to thee 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 As an awaken'd giant with a frown Might show his wrath, and then to sleep sink down. View now the winter storm! above, one cloud, All where the eye delights, yet dreads to roam, Is restless change; the waves so swell'd and steep, May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, Now to his grave was Roger Cuff convey'd, "Is this a landman's love? Be certain, then, His words were truth's. Some forty summers fled, But stern was George ;—“ Let them who had thee strong To us a stranger while your limbs would move, To pious James he then his prayer address'd: "Good lack," quoth James, "thy sorrows pierce my breast! And had I wealth, as have my brethren twain, One board should feed us, and one roof contain: But plead I will thy cause, and I will pray; And so farewell!-Heaven help thee on thy way!" "Scoundrel!" said Roger, (but apart,)—and told His case to Peter. Peter too was cold: "The rates are high; we have a-many poor ;But I will think," he said, and shut the door. Then the gay niece the seeming pauper press'd: “Turn, Nancy, turn, and view this form distress'd;— Akin to thine is this declining frame, And this poor beggar claims an Uncle's name.” "My gentle Niece!" he said, and sought the wood. "I hunger, fellow; prithee give me food!" "Give! am I rich? This hatchet take, and try Thy proper strength,—nor give those limbs the lie: Work, feed thyself, to thine own powers appeal, Nor whine out woes thine own right hand can heal: And while that hand is thine, and thine a leg, Scorn of the proud or of the base to beg." “Come, surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view," Old Roger said :-"thy words are brave and true; Come, live with me,—we'll vex those scoundrel boys; And that prim shrew shall, envying, hear our joys. Tobacco's glorious fume all day we'll share, With beef and brandy kill all kinds of care; We'll beer and biscuit on our table heap, And rail at rascals, till we fall asleep." Such was their life: but when the woodman died, His grieving kin for Roger's smiles applied,In vain he shut, with stern rebuke, the door, And, dying, built a refuge for the poor; With this restriction,-that no Cuff should share One meal, or shelter for one moment there. STANZAS. LET me not have this gloomy view Till I, a fading flower, am dead. Oh! let the herbs I loved to rear Give to my sense their perfum'd breath; Let them be placed about my bier, And grace the gloomy house of death. I'll have my grave beneath a hill, Where only Lucy's self shall know; Where runs the pure pellucid rill Upon its gravelly bed below: There violets on the borders blow, And insects their soft light display,Till, as the morning sunbeams glow, The cold phosphoric fires decay. That is the grave to Lucy shown,— There let my maiden form be laid. |