Phenix gazette. [volume] (Alexandria [D.C.]) 1825-1833, 1832-09-20
ALEXANDRIA GAZETTE.
LITERARY.
From London Paper.
THE VILLAGE POOR-HOUSE.
Bv A COUNTRY cuRArE

IT is what tprofesses to be, the work Of - Ccln.
| try Curate." The author, Mr.. White, has
drawn from nature; his feelings are enlisted in
| the cause of the poor; hence the fidelity of his
| description, and the earnestness Of his MANNER
When we behold Clergyman producing work
| of this description, we are almost inclined to
search the next thorn, in expectatation Of finding
afg. tits true that Crabbe depicted scenes Of
humble life with fidelity and vividness of de-
scription which the author Of The TAage Poor.
House has BY no means equalled. But then the
object Of Crabbe'. poems was entirely different
he sought to destroy the erroneous impression
which attributed to the inhabitants of the rural
districts. degree of virtue unknown to the po-
pulation of towns and cities. Mr.. Whites Oh.
iect is to do that which Crabbe has omitted-tn
denounce the vices of the higher grades Of rural
life. and to exhibit, by force of contrast its most
striking inequalities. 10 this, despite Of some
glaring and unworthy trickery in the construction
of his verses, and Of much lpable and affected
carelessness. which we hope his good taste will
prevent the repetition of, he has to great extent
succeeded. The effects of irremediabe power
ty brutalzns the mind. Of petty and vexatious
tyranny in whitening the best affections OF the
soul. and goadms the overtasked and i'll paid pea.
SAINT to desperation and revenge, ale forcibly de-
.cribed. In limited population the vices of the
upper classes Of society, as they are called, must
in their necessary reaction, generate the crimes
of the lower. The poem opens very beautifully:
"Our village mas a pleasant look,
A happy look as e'er was seem
Right through the valley flows brook
Which winds in many fow'ry nook,
And freshens all the green.
! On either side, 80 clean and white,
| row Of cottages you sec
| And iessamiue is clustered DER
| The humble trellice Of each door,
TAen left to Chamber tree,
And shake its blossoms far and wide,
Der ali the white d cottage side.
As diving evening sinks away,
The old church tow'r, erect and grey
Catches far up the parting light,
And half grows holy to the sight.
In truth it has reverend grace.
| As IL il were some sacred place,
| Calm, silent, shaded and serene,
! Some blessed spot where God has BEEN"
We have seen what nature has done for this
" thriving villages" let US now turn to another
| scene:-
Within y0n paper.wndow'd room
A group, in sadness and in gloom,
Is sittng-and, though no one speaks,
Look only on their eyes aud cheeks!
1t needs not language to express
Their tale Of misery and distress;
The Village o0r.house-Paupers, they
Men-yOung, and sinewy, and strong,
Condemn'd to see, day after day,
Their moments creep along
In sloth--for they have nought to do,
And start We nOt-in hunger. too!
Yes. hunger, gnawing like worm,
Yet armed with more than reptile fangs,
Wearing away the manly form,
While scarce tobacco soothes its pangs.
And women-young, -they might be fair,
Save that the backness fdespair
Is she'd DER every feature there,-
And gives to lips that might have smil'd
A curl Of desperation wild;
To eyes that might have beamed.-a look
Which virtue cannot wear nor brook.
Such are they in that chamber dim,
Silent, and desoate, and GRIM"
The paupers are supposed to give their hstO-
ries in song. Here we have poacher's:--
WILL sOMERS'S SONG.
"My mother she was frail and old,
And her only child.
Our home was desolate and cold,
And vainIy still toied:
They taxed my strength, gave it free;
Add what was all they gave to me!
"a pittance that would scarce find food,
And even in Winters snow
Was any left to purchase wood,
To warm my mother?-no!
Cold, weary, weak, and wanting bread.
thank'd my God when she was dead.
81 cannot fawn as others do,
cannot feign tear,
hate the hinty- hearted crew,
The soulless Overseer,-