Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. And, while the wings of Fancy still are free TO MRS. UNWIN * MARY! I want a lyre with other strings, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new THE CASTAWAY † 1 Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roared, When such a destined wretch as I, Washed headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home forever left. 2 No braver chief could Albion boast He loved them both, but both in vain, The friend and constant companion of Cowper for thirty-four years. The last poem that Cowper wrote: founded on an incident in Admiral Anson's Voyages. It portrays imaginatively his own melancholy condition. 3 Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away; But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. 4 He shouted; nor his friends had failed To check the vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevailed That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, 5 Some succour yet they could afford; But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, 6 Nor, cruel as it seemed, could he 7 He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld: And so long he, with unspent power, And ever, as the minutes flew, 8 At length, his transient respite past, Could catch the sound no more; For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. 9 No poet wept him; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells his name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear: And tears by bards or heroes shed 10 I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme Where in the midst, upon her throne of green, Flowing, it fills the channel vast and wide; "Describe the Borough."-Though our idle Then back to sea, with strong majestic sweep tribe May love description, can we so describe, That you shall fairly streets and buildings trace, And all that gives distinction to a place? This cannot be; yet, moved by your request, A part I paint-let fancy form the rest. 10 Cities and towns, the various haunts of men, Require the pencil; they defy the pen. Could he, who sang so well the Grecian fleet, So well have sung of alley, lane, or street? Can measured lines these various buildings show, The Town-Hall Turning, or the Prospect Row? Can I the seats of wealth and want explore, And lengthen out my lays from door to door? Then, let thy fancy aid me.—I repair From this tall mansion of our last-year's mayor, Till we the outskirts of the Borough reach, And these half-buried buildings next the beach; Where hang at open doors the net and cork, While squalid sea-dames mend the meshy work; Till comes the hour, when, fishing through the tide, 21 The weary husband throws his freight aside A living mass, which now demands the wife, The alternate labours of their humble life. 1 Homer, Iliad II. This poem was inscribed to the Duke of Rutland, to whom Crabbe had been chaplain, and takes the form of Letters from a resi dent of a sea-port (Crabbe was a native of Aldeburgh, Suffolk) to the owner of an inland country-seat. The date of the poem is 1810. Crabbe's reputation, however, was established by The Village in 1783, and his place is with those later 18th century poets who clung to the 18th century forms, though reacting against the artificiality and frigid conventionalism that had so long reigned. In homeliness of themes and naked realism of treatment, the poet of The Village and The Borough stands quite alone. See Eng. Lit., p. 226. 40 It rolls, in ebb yet terrible and deep; Here sampire-banks and salt-wort bound the flood; There stakes and sea-weeds, withering on the mud; And, higher up, a ridge of all things base, Which some strong tide has rolled upon the place. Thy gentle river boasts its pigmy boat, Urged on by pains, half grounded, half afloat; While at her stern an angler takes his stand, And marks the fish he purposes to land, From that clear space, where, in the cheerful ray Of the warm sun, the scaly people play. 50 Those laden waggons, in return, impart Package, and parcel, hogshead, chest, and case; Near these a crew amphibious, in the docks, Rear, for the sea, those castles on the stocks: See the long keel, which soon the waves must hide; 81 See the strong ribs which form the roomy side; Bolts yielding slowly to the sturdiest stroke, And planks which curve and crackle in the smoke. Around the whole rise cloudy wreaths, and far Bear the warm pungence of o'er-boiling tar. Dabbling on shore half-naked sea-boys crowd, Swim round a ship, or swing upon the shroud; Or, in a boat purloined, with paddles play, And grow familiar with the watery way. Young though they be, they feel whose sons they are; 90 They know what British seamen do and dare; Proud of that fame, they raise and they enjoy The rustic wonder of the village boy. Turn to the watery world!-but who to thee (A wonder yet unviewed) shall paint-the sea? Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, When lulled by zephyrs, or when roused by storms; Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun 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 180 (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends, In part conceal-yon prowler on his way. Gruffly he answers, "Tis a sorry sight! A seaman's body; there'll be more to-night!" Hark to those sounds! they're from distress at sea; 241 How quick they come! What terrors may there be! Yes, 'tis a driven vessel: I discern To pass off one dread portion of the night; Lights, signs of terror, gleaming from the Or measured cadence of the lads who tow stern; Others behold them too, and from the town Some entered hoy, to fix her in her row; Thus shall you something of our BOROUGH Lest men so dear be into danger led; Far as a verse, with Fancy's aid, can show; Their head the gown has hooded, and their call Of sea or river, of a quay or street, In this sad night is piercing like the squall; The best description must be incomplete; They feel their kinds of power, and when they But when a happier theme succeeds, and when meet, 251 Men are our subjects and the deeds of men; 300 Then may we find the Muse in happier style, And we may sometimes sigh and sometimes smile. Chide, fondle, weep, dare, threaten, or entreat. I will not'-still she cries, "Thou shalt not No need of this; not here the stoutest boat Can through such breakers, o'er such billows From parted clouds the moon her radiance On the wild waves, and all the danger shows; I see them not! the storm alone I hear: on 270 Now business sleeps, and daily cares are gone; WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827) SONG How sweet I roamed from field to field, 2 He showed me lilies for my hair, 3 With sweet May-dews my wings were wet, He caught me in his silken net, 4 He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; |