Analysis of The Borough. Letter III: The Vicar--The Curate
George Crabbe 1754 (Aldborough) – 1832 (Trowbridge)
WHERE ends our chancel in a vaulted space,
Sleep the departed Vicars of the place;
Of most, all mention, memory, thought are past -
But take a slight memorial of the last.
To what famed college we our Yicar owe,
To what fair county, let historians show:
Few now remember when the mild young man,
Ruddy and fair, his Sunday-task began;
Few live to speak of that soft soothing look
He cast around, as he prepared his book;
It was a kind of supplicating smile,
But nothing hopeless of applause the while;
And when he finished, his corrected pride
Felt the desert, and yet the praise denied.
Thus he his race began, and to the end
His constant care was, no man to offend;
No haughty virtues stirr'd his peaceful mind;
Nor urged the Priest to leave the Flock behind;
He was his Master's Soldier, but not one
To lead an army of his Martyrs on:
Fear was his ruling passion; yet was Love,
Of timid kind, once known his heart to move;
It led his patient spirit where it paid
Its languid offerings to a listening Maid:
She, with her widow'd Mother, heard him speak,
And sought awhile to find what he would seek:
Smiling he came, he smiled when he withdrew,
And paid the same attention to the two;
Meeting and parting without joy or pain,
He seem'd to come that he might go again.
The wondering girl, no prude, but something nice,
At length was chill'd by his unmelting ice;
She found her tortoise held such sluggish pace,
That she must turn and meet him in the chase:
This not approving, she withdrew, till one
Came who appear'd with livelier hope to run;
Who sought a readier way the heart to move,
Than by faint dalliance of unfixing love.
Accuse me not that I approving paint
Impatient Hope or Love without restraint;
Or think the Passions, a tumultuous throng,
Strong as they are, ungovernably strong:
But is the laurel to the soldier due,
Who, cautious, comes not into danger's view?
What worth has Virtue by Desire untried,
When Nature's self enlists on Duty's side?
The married dame in vain assail'd the truth
And guarded bosom of the Hebrew youth;
But with the daughter of the Priest of On
The love was lawful, and the guard was gone;
But Joseph's fame had lessened in our view,
Had he, refusing, fled the maiden too.
Yet our good priest to Joseph's praise aspired,
As once rejecting what his heart desired;
'I am escaped,' he said, when none pursued;
When none attack'd him, 'I am unsubdued;'
'Oh pleasing pangs of love!' he sang again,
Cold to the joy, and stranger to the pain.
E'en in his age would he address the young,
'I too have felt these fires, and they are strong;'
But from the time he left his favourite maid,
To ancient females his devoirs were paid:
And still they miss him after Morning-prayer;
Nor yet successor fills the Vicar's chair,
Where kindred spirits in his praise agree,
A happy few, as mild and cool as he;
The easy followers in the female train,
Led without love, and captives without chain.
Ye Lilies male! think (as your tea you sip,
While the town small-talk flows from lip to lip;
Intrigues half-gather'd, conversation-scraps,
Kitchen cabals, and nursery-mishaps),
If the vast world may not some scene produce,
Some state where your small talents might have use;
Within seraglios you might harmless move,
'Mid ranks of beauty, and in haunts of love;
There from too daring man the treasures guard,
An easy duty, and its own reward;
Nature's soft substitutes, you there might save
From crime the tyrant, and from wrong the slave.
But let applause be dealt in all we may,
Our Priest was cheerful, and in season gay;
His frequent visits seldom fail'd to please;
Easy himself, he sought his neighbour's ease:
To a small garden with delight he came,
And gave successive flowers a summer's fame;
These he presented, with a grace his own,
To his fair friends, and made their beauties known,
Not without moral compliment; how they
'Like flowers were sweet, and must like flowers decay.'
Simple he was, and loved the simple truth,
Yet had some useful cunning from his youth;
A cunning never to dishonour lent,
And rather for defence than conquest meant;
'Twas fear of power, with some desire to rise,
But not enough to make him enemies;
He ever aim'd to please; and to offend
Was ever cautious; for he sought a friend;
Yet for the friendship never much would pay,
Content to bow, be silent, and obey,
And by a soothing suff'rance find his way.
Fiddling and fishing were his arts: at times
He alter'd sermons, and he aim'd at rhymes;
And his fa
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1110100101 1001010101 11110100111 11010100101 1111011011 11110101001 1101010111 100111101 1111111101 1101110111 1101111 1101010101 0111010101 1010010101 1111010101 1101111101 1101011101 1101110101 1111010111 1111011101 1111010111 1101111111 1111010111 110100101001 1101010111 0101111111 1011111101 0101010101 1001001111 1111111101 01001111101 11111111 1101011101 1111011001 1101010111 11011100111 11010010111 111100111 0111110101 0101110101 1101001001 111111 1101010101 110110111 11110101001 110101111 0101010101 0101010101 1101010111 0111000111 11011100101 1101010101 11011110101 11010111010 1101111101 11011111 1101111101 1101010101 1101111101 11111100111 110111111 11011101 0111110101 110101011 1101001101 0101110111 0101000011 1011010011 1101111111 1011111111 011100101 10101001 1011111101 1111110111 01111101 1111000111 1111010101 1101001101 101101111 1101001101 1101110111 10111000101 1101010111 100111111 1011010111 01010100101 1101010111 1111011101 1011010011 110010111001 1011010101 1111010111 01010111 0101011101 111101101011 1101111100 1101110101 1101011101 1101010111 1011110001 010101111 1001001111 1101001111 011 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 4,370 |
Words | 808 |
Sentences | 16 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 104 |
Lines Amount | 104 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 3,473 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 801 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:08 min read
- 88 Views
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"The Borough. Letter III: The Vicar--The Curate" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 10 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/14878/the-borough.--letter-iii%3A-the-vicar--the-curate>.
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