George Crabbe Poems

A QUIET, simple man was Abel Keene,
He meant no harm, nor did he often mean;
He kept a school of loud rebellious boys,
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DISPOSED to wed, e'en while you hasten, stay;
There's great advantage in a small delay:
Thus Ovid sang, and much the wise approve
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I'll know no more;--the heart is torn
By views of woe we cannot heal;
Long shall I see these things forlorn,
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WE'VE trod the maze of error round,
   Long wandering in the winding glade;
And now the torch of truth is found,
   It only shows us where we strayed:
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WE had a sprightly nymph--in every town
Are some such sprights, who wander up and down;
She had her useful arts, and could contrive,
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A serious Toyman in the city dwelt,
Who much concern for his religion felt;
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Govenors
AN ardent spirit dwells with Christian love,
The eagle's vigour in the pitying dove;
'Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh,
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'WHAT is a Church?'--Let Truth and Reason speak,
They would reply, 'The faithful, pure, and meek;
From Christian folds, the one selected race,
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Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire,
Was six feet high, and look'd six inches higher;
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'TIS well--that Man to all the varying states
Of good and ill his mind accommodates;
He not alone progressive grief sustains,
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