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    Miscellaneous Poems
    Miscellaneous Poems
    Miscellaneous Poems
    Ebook58 pages40 minutes

    Miscellaneous Poems

    By George Crabbe

    ()

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    Miscellaneous Poems

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      Book preview

      Miscellaneous Poems - George Crabbe

      Miscellaneous Poems, by George Crabbe

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miscellaneous Poems, by George Crabbe

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      **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

      **eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**

      *****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****

      Title: Miscellaneous Poems

      Author: George Crabbe

      Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5209]

      [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]

      [This file was first posted on June 6, 2002]

      [Most recently updated: June 6, 2002]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      Transcribed by Mark Sherwood, e-mail: mark.sherwood@btinternet.com

      MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

      Contents

         Sir Eustace Grey

         The Hall of Justice

         Woman

         The Birth of Flattery

         Reflections

      SIR EUSTACE GREY.

      Scene: - A MADHOUSE.

      Persons: - VISITOR, PHYSICIAN, AND PATIENT.

      Veris miscens falsa.

                     SENECA.

            -------------------

                  VISITOR.

      I’ll know no more; - the heart is torn

      By views of woe we cannot heal;

      Long shall I see these things forlorn,

      And oft again their griefs shall feel,

      As each upon the mind shall steal;

      That wan projector’s mystic style,

      That lumpish idiot leering by,

      That peevish idler’s ceaseless wile,

      And that poor maiden’s half-form’d smile,

      While struggling for the full-drawn sigh! -

      I’ll know no more.

                  PHYSICIAN.

      Yes, turn again;

      Then speed to happier scenes thy way,

      When thou hast view’d, what yet remain,

      The ruins of Sir Eustace Grey,

      The sport of madness, misery’s prey:

      But he will no historian need,

      His cares, his crimes, will he display,

      And show (as one from frenzy freed)

      The proud lost mind, the rash-done deed.

      That cell to him is Greyling Hall: -

      Approach; he’ll bid thee welcome there;

      Will sometimes for his servant call,

      And sometimes point the vacant chair:

      He can, with free and easy air,

      Appear attentive and polite;

      Can veil his woes in manners fair,

      And pity with respect excite.

                  PATIENT.

      Who comes? - Approach! - ’tis kindly done: -

      My learn’d physician, and a friend,

      Their pleasures quit, to visit one

      Who cannot to their ease attend,

      Nor joys bestow, nor comforts lend,

      As when I lived so blest, so well,

      And dreamt not I must soon contend

      With those malignant powers of hell.

                  PHYSICIAN.

      Less warmth, Sir Eustace, or we go.

                  PATIENT.

      See! I am calm as infant love,

      A very child, but one of woe,

      Whom you should pity, not reprove: -

      But men at ease, who never strove

      With passions wild, will calmly show

      How soon we may their ills remove,

      And masters of their madness grow.

      Some twenty years, I think, are gone, -

      (Time flies I know not how, away,)

      The sun upon no happier shone,

      Nor prouder man, than Eustace Grey.

      Ask where you would, and all would

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