REFLECTIONS UPON THE SUBJECT — — George Crabbe Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Crabbe, George, 1754-1832. The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe: with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son. In eight volumes. Vol. II. [poems only] London John Murray, Albemarle Street. MDCCCXXXVIII. 1838 pp. 253-258. 8 volumes.

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REFLECTIONS UPON THE SUBJECT — —

Quid juvat errores , mersâ jam puppe , fateri ? Quid lacrymæ delicta juvant commissa secutæ ?

Claudian . in Eutropium , lib. ii . lin . 7.

What avails it , when shipwreck'd , that error appears ? Are the crimes we commit wash'd away by our tears ?

When all the fiercer passions cease ( The glory and disgrace of youth ) ; When the deluded soul , in peace , Can listen to the voice of truth ; When we are taught in whom to trust , And how to spare , to spend , to give , ( Our prudence kind , our pity just , ) 'T is then we rightly learn to live . Its weakness when the body feels , Nor danger in contempt defies ; To reason when desire appeals , When , on experience , hope relies ; When every passing hour we prize , Nor rashly on our follies spend ; But use it , as it quickly flies , With sober aim to serious end ; When prudence bounds our utmost views , And bids us wrath and wrong forgive ; When we can calmly gain or lose , — 'T is then we rightly learn to live . Yet thus , when we our way discern , And can upon our care depend , To travel safely , when we learn , Behold ! we're near our journey's end We've trod the maze of error round , Long wand'ring in the winding glade ; And , now the torch of truth is found , It only shows us where we stray'd : Light for ourselves , what is it worth , When we no more our way can choose ? For others , when we hold it forth , They , in their pride , the boon refuse . By long experience taught , we now Can rightly judge of friends and foes , Can all the worth of these allow , And all their faults discern in those ; Relentless hatred , erring love , We can for sacred truth forego ; We can the warmest friend reprove , And bear to praise the fiercest foe : To what effect ? Our friends are gone Beyond reproof , regard , or care ; And of our foes remains there one , The mild relenting thoughts to share ? Now 't is our boast that we can quell The wildest passions in their rage ; Can their destructive force repel , And their impetuous wrath assuage : Ah! Virtue , dost thou arm , when now This bold rebellious race are fled ; When all these tyrants rest , and thou Art warring with the mighty dead ? Revenge , ambition , scorn , and pride , And strong desire , and fierce disdain , The giant-brood by thee defied , Lo ! Time's resistless strokes have slain . Yet Time , who could that race subdue , ( O'erpowering strength , appeasing rage , ) Leaves yet a persevering crew , To try the failing powers of age . Vex'd by the constant call of these , Virtue awhile for conquest tries ; But weary grown and fond of ease , She makes with them a compromise : Av'rice himself she gives to rest , But rules him with her strict commands , Bids Pity touch his torpid breast , And Justice hold his eager hands . Yet is there nothing men can do , When chilling Age comes creeping on ? Cannot we yet some good pursue ? Are talents buried ? genius gone ? If passions slumber in the breast , If follies from the heart be fled ; Of laurels let us go in quest , And place them on the poet's head . Yes , we'll redeem the wasted time , And to neglected studies flee ; We'll build again the lofty rhyme , Or live , Philosophy , with thee : For reasoning clear , for flight sublime , Eternal fame reward shall be ; And to what glorious heights we'll climb , The admiring crowd shall envying see . Begin the song ! begin the theme ! — Alas ! and is Invention dead ? Dream we no more the golden dream ? Is Mem'ry with her treasures fled ? Yes , 't is too late , — now Reason guides The mind , sole judge in all debate ; And thus the important point decides , For laurels , 't is , alas ! too late . What is possess'd we may retain , But for new conquests strive in vain . Beware then , Age , that what was won , If life's past labours , studies , views , Be lost not , now the labour's done , When all thy part is , — not to lose : When thou canst toil or gain no more , Destroy not what was gain'd before . For , all that's gain'd of all that's good , When time shall his weak frame destroy ( Their use then rightly understood ) , Shall man , in happier state , enjoy . Oh! argument for truth divine , For study's cares , for virtue's strife ; To know the enjoyment will be thine , In that renew'd , that endless life !