English Men of Letters: Crabbe

Alfred Ainger

Capitolo 87

of his/her plants,--Lonicera, Hyacinthus and Senecio. Then we have the
corteges, cheerful Lothario that goes not only to void to conduct out road the beautiful one
Fanny Price, but you/he/she is converted by her to worthier, and thin purposes from
becoming the better friend and benefactor of her and his/her rustic applicant.
There is an impressive squirt of the elderly prude:--

      "--wise, austere, and beautiful,
  Who showed his/her virtue from his/her contempt of vice";

and another of the egoist and the worldly life of the Mrs. to the Gran
House that prefers to pass his/her fortune to London and leaves his/her tenants
to the tender mercies of his/her assistant of edge. Its desolate mansion is described
in lines the _Haunted House_ of Chest curiously anticipating:--

                "--desolate it was standing the Room:
  Worms ate the floors, the tap'stries abandoned the wall:
  Any fire the sad grille of the kitchen exposes;
  Any happy light the loom long-closed door;
  The worm that crawls that turns a fly in summer,
  Here its shroud rotated, and it placed him/it on to die
  Him winter-death:--on the bed of state,
  The bat shouting acute they court his/her consort of vibration."

In the end its splendid funeral is solemnized:--

  "Dark but not terrible, dark but he/she anchors the mean,
  With anxious movements of confusion the scene of cumbrous;
  You introduce any objects they offer in payment of a debt or deep
  But expansions his/her meaningless and cold obscurity around."

And the sarcastic village-father, after having felt "some studious" read the
list of his/her titles and his/her virtues, looked disdain" and says":--

  "Street, my friends! because he/she takes such pains to know
  Will thing of the marble of brave show in the Church soon?
  Where not its attractive name will be alone standing,
  But as her he/she lived--the earth's benediction;
  How much all of us deplored the dead noble,
  What it groans us we sent forth and that that torn that we pour;
  Torn wounds, true as those that in the sleepy eyes
  Of cherubs of weeping on the stone it will rise;
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