Here you will find the Long Poem Tale XX of poet George Crabbe
THE BROTHERS. Than old George Fletcher, on the British coast Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast: Kind, simple and sincere--he seldom spoke, But sometimes sang and chorus'd--'Hearts of Oak:' In dangers steady, with his lot content, His days in labour and in love were spent. He left a Son so like him, that the old With joy exclaim'd, ''Tis Fletcher we behold;' But to his Brother, when the kinsmen came And view'd his form, they grudged the father's name. George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad, With just the failings that his father had; Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact, With just the virtues that his father lack'd. George lived at sea: upon the land a guest - He sought for recreation, not for rest; While, far unlike, his brother's feebler form Shrank from the cold, and shudder'd at the storm; Still with the Seaman's to connect his trade, The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were made. George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind, And was to Isaac pitiful and kind; A very father, till his art was gain'd, And then a friend unwearied he remain'd; He saw his brother was of spirit low, His temper peevish, and his motions slow; Not fit to bustle in a world, or make Friends to his fortune for his merit's sake; But the kind sailor could not boast the art Of looking deeply in the human heart; Else had he seen that this weak brother knew What men to court--what objects to pursue; That he to distant gain the way discern'd, And none so crooked but his genius learn'd. Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt; He hired a house, and there the Landman dwelt, Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home, For there would George with cash and comforts come; And when they parted, Isaac look'd around Where other friends and helpers might be found. He wish'd for some port-place, and one might fall, He wisely thought, if he should try for all; He had a vote--and were it well applied, Might have its worth--and he had views beside; Old Burgess Steel was able to promote An humble man who served him with a vote; For Isaac felt not what some tempers feel, But bow'd and bent the neck to Burgess Steel; And great attention to a lady gave, His ancient friend, a maiden spare and grave; One whom the visage long and look demure Of Isaac pleased--he seem'd sedate and pure; And his soft heart conceived a gentle flame For her who waited on this virtuous dame. Not an outrageous love, a scorching fire, But friendly liking and chastised desire; And thus he waited, patient in delay, In present favour and in fortune's way. George then was coasting--war was yet delay'd, And what he gain'd was to his brother paid; Nor ask'd the Seaman what he saved or spent, But took his grog, wrought hard, and was content; Till war awaked the land, and George began To think what part became a useful man: 'Press'd, I must go: why, then, 'tis better far At once to enter like a British tar, Than a brave captain and the foe to shun, As if I fear'd the music of a gun.' 'Go not!' said Isaac--'you shall wear disguise.' 'What!' said the Seaman, 'clothe myself with lies!' 'Oh! but there's danger.'--'Danger in the fleet? You cannot mean, good brother, of defeat; And other dangers I at land must share - So now adieu! and trust a brother's care.' Isaac awhile demurr'd--but, in his heart, So might he share, he was disposed to part: The better mind will sometimes feel the pain Of benefactions--favour is a chain; But they the feeling scorn, and what they wish, disdain; While beings form'd in coarser mould will hate The helping hand they ought to venerate: No wonder George should in this cause prevail, With one contending who was glad to fail: 'Isaac, farewell! do wipe that doleful eye; Crying we came, and groaning we may die; Let us do something 'twixt the groan and cry: And hear me, brother, whether pay or prize, One half to thee I give and I devise; Por thou hast oft occasion for the aid Of learn'd physicians, and they will be paid; Their wives and children men support at sea, And thou, my lad, art wife and child to me: Farewell! I go where hope and honour call, Nor does it follow that who fights must fall,' Isaac here made a poor attempt to speak, And a huge tear moved slowly down his cheek; Like Pluto's iron drop, hard sign of grace, It slowly roll'd upon the rueful face, Forced by the striving will alone its way to trace. Years fled--war lasted--George at sea remain'd, While the slow Landman still his profits gain'd: An humble place was vacant--he besought His patron's interest, and the office caught; For still the Virgin was his faithful friend, And one so sober could with truth commend, Who of his own defects most humbl