T may be that "The fault was not in him-but in mankind:" there can be, however, no doubt that the Poet wilfully exaggerated in his descriptions of human vice, and details of human suffering; and that he himself neither believed nor imagined his fellow-beings so odious and depraved as he describes them. His desire to be original led him into this large error,-to reject the garb in which poetry had for ages been wont to array the works of the creation; and to clothe them in a dress quite as unnatural and equally opposed to reality. The rustic population of our country are neither so wretched nor so degraded as they are, with few exceptions, made to appear. The poor, as well as the rich, have their vices-but their virtues also. It is not only while writing of men and women that Crabbe "looks askance :" he can perceive in the people who surround him little that is good, and less that is gracious; but he has neither eye nor ear for the beautiful sights and delicious sounds of inanimate nature. To him, the breeze is ever harsh and unmusical,-seldom moving except to produce wrecks; and hill, and stream, and valley, are barren, muddy, and unprofitable. He contemplates all things, animate and inanimate, "through a glass, darkly." The consequence has naturally been, that Crabbe never was a popular Poet. Yet the rough energy of his descriptions, the vigorous and manly style of his versification, the deep though oppressive interest of his stories, and his stern maxims of morality,—with a little more of a kindly leaning towards humanity-must have secured for him universal admiration. TURN to the watery world!-but who to thee When lull'd by zephyrs, or when rous'd by storms, 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, 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. 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, Is restless change; the waves so swell'd and steep, May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, ROGER CUFF. : Now to his grave was Roger Cuff convey'd, Now all his kindred,-neither rich nor poor,- And begg'd for aid, as he described his state: But stern was George;-" Let them who had thee strong Help thee to drag thy weaken'd frame along; 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 ; 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." "Avaunt! begone!" the courteous maiden said, I hate thee, beast; thy look my spirit shocks! "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 "Come, surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view," Such was their life: but when the woodman died, With this restriction,-that no Cuff should share * * STANZAS. LET me not have this gloomy view |