George Crabbe Poems

Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all,
Who dwelt around, 'the Gentleman' would call;
Whether in pure humility or pride
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There was a worthy, but a simple Pair,
Who nursed a Daughter, fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,
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YES, our Election's past, and we've been free,
Somewhat as madmen without keepers be;
And such desire of Freedom has been shown,
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It is the Soul that sees: the outward eyes
Present the object, but the Mind descries;
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These are monarchs none respect,
Heroes, yet an humbled crew,
Nobles, whom the crowd correct,
Wealthy men, whom duns pursue;
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Love will expire--the gay, the happy dream
Will turn to scorn, indiff'rence, or esteem:
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Genius! thou gift of Heav'n! thou light divine!
Amid what dangers art thou doom'd to shine!
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Counter and Clubb were men in trade, whose pains,
Credit, and prudence, brought them constant gains;
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Than old George Fletcher, on the British coast
Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast:
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Then died, lamented, in the strength of life,
A valued mother, and a faithful wife:
Call'd not away, when time had loosed each hold
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