Robert Bloomfield

MY GOOD, OLD, WISE, SECLUDED, AND QUIET FRIEND,

I write to you in the fulness of my heart, for I have been grossly insulted by the Magpie, in a letter received this morning; in which I am abused for what my forefathers did long before I was born. I know of nothing more base, or more unjust, than thus raking up old quarrels [4] and reproaching those who had nothing to do with them. The letter must have come through your office, but I know you have not the authority to break open and examine letters passing between those who should be friends; I therefore do not accuse you; but sometimes the heart is relieved by stating its troubles even when no redress can be expected. I know that you cannot bring to punishment that slanderer, that babbler of the woods, any more than I can; but I wish you would give me a word of comfort, if it i...

DISTRESSED NEIGHBOUR,

I am sorry for your trouble, but cheer up your spirits, and though you are insulted, remember who it is that gives the affront, it is only the magpie; and depend upon it that in general the best way to deal with impudent fools is to be silent and take no notice of them. I should have enough to do if I were to resent all her impertinences. She will come sometimes round the ivy where I lodge in the old elm, or into the tower on the top of the hill; and there she will pimp and pry into my private concerns, and mob me, and call me "Old Wigsby" and "Doctor Winkum," and such kind of names, and all for nothing. I assure you it is well for her that she is not a mouse, or she should not long escape my talons; but who ever heard of such a thing as eating a magpie? I live chiefly on mice (when I am at liberty to catc...

DEAR LITTLE BOB,

I remember your peaceful singing on the top of your shed, near my late dwelling, and I remember also that I promised to write you some account of my journey. You may recollect that, at the close of your summer, when flies became scarce, we all assembled on a sunny morning, on the roof of the highest building in the village, and talked loudly of the flight we intended to take. At last came the day appointed, and we mounted up in a vast body and steered southward.


Being hatched in England, I had thought your valleys and streams matchless in beauty; and for anything I know to the contrary they certainly are; but I am now a traveller, and have a traveller's privilege to say what I like. When we reached the great water I was astonished at its width, but more still to see many travelling houses going...

(CHARLES BLOOMFIELD.)


    'Twas the blush of the spring, vegetation was young,
    And the birds with a maddening ecstasy sung
    To welcome a season so lovely and gay -
    But a scene the most sweet was the close of May-day.
    For the air was serene, and the moon was out bright,
    And Philomel boldly exerted her might
    In her swellings and trillings, to rival the sound
    Of the distant defiance of nightingales round.
    While the cuckoo as proudly was heard to prolong,
    Though daylight was over, her own mellow song,
    And appeared to exult; and at intervals, too,
    The owl in the distance joined in with "Too-whoo!"
    Unceasing, unwearied, each, proud of his power,
    Continued the contest from hour to hour;
    The nightingale vau...

Genius of the Forest Shades!
Lend thy pow'r, and lend thine ear!
A Stranger trod thy lonely glades,
Amidst thy dark and bounding Deer;
Inquiring Childhood claims the verse,
O let them not inquire in vain;
Be with me while I thus rehearse
The glories of thy Sylvan Reign.

Thy Dells by wint'ry currents worn,
Secluded haunts, how dear to me!
From all but Nature's converse borne,
No ear to hear, no eye to see.
Their honour'd leaves the green Oaks rear'd,
And crown'd the upland's graceful swell;
While answering through the vale was heard
Each distant Heifer's tinkling bell.

Hail, Greenwood shades, that stretching far,
Defy e'en Summer's noontide pow'r,
When August in his burning Car
Withholds the Cloud, withholds the Show'r.
The deep-...

    Written At Clare-Hall, Herts. June 1804.

Welcome silence! welcome peace!
O most welcome, holy shade!
Thus I prove as years increase,
My heart and soul for quiet made.
Thus I fix my firm belief
While rapture's gushing tears descend;
That every flower and every leaf
Is moral Truth's unerring friend.

I would not for a world of gold
That Nature's lovely face should tire;
Fountain of blessings yet untold;
Pure source of intellectual fire!
Fancy's fair buds, the germs of song,
Unquicken'd midst the world's rude strife,
Shall sweet retirement render strong,
And morning silence bring to life.

Then tell me not that I shall grow
Forlorn, that fields and woods will cloy;
From Nature and her changes flow
An everlasting tide of joy...

Thy favourite Bird is soaring still:
My Lucy, haste thee o'er the dale;
The Stream's let loose, and from the Mill
All silent comes the balmy gale;
Yet, so lightly on its way,
Seems to whisper 'Holiday.'

The pathway flowers that bending meet
And give the Meads their yellow hue,
The May-bush and the Meadow-sweet
Reserve their fragrance all for you.
Why then, Lucy, why delay?
Let us share the Holiday.

Since there thy smiles, my charming Maid,
Are with unfeigned rapture seen,
To Beauty be the homage paid;
Come, claim the triumph of the Green.
Here's my hand, come, come away;
Share the merry Holiday.

A promise too my Lucy made,
(And shall my heart its claim resign?)
That ere May-flowers again should fade,
Her heart and han...

'O Winds, howl not so long and loud;
Nor with your vengeance arm the snow:
Bear hence each heavy-loaded cloud;
And let the twinkling Star-beams glow.

'Now sweeping floods rush down the slope,
Wide scattering ruin. - Stars, shine soon!
No other light my Love can hope;
Midnight will want the joyous Moon.

'O guardian Spirits! - Ye that dwell
Where woods, and pits, and hollow ways,
The lone night-trav'ler's fancy swell
With fearful tales, of older days, -

'Press round him: - guide his willing steed
Through darkness, dangers, currents, snows;
Wait where, from shelt'ring thickets freed,
The dreary Heath's rude whirlwind blows.

'From darkness rushing o'er his way,
The Thorn's white load it bears on high!
Where the short furze ...

How bright with pearl the western sky!
How glorious far and wide,
Yon lines of golden clouds that lie
So peaceful side by side!
Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light,
All eyes with rapture see;
E'en while I sigh I bless the sight
That lures my love from me.

Green hill, that shad'st the valley here,
Thou bear'st upon thy brow
The only wealth to Mary dear,
And all she'll ever know.
There, in the crimson light I see,
Above thy summit rise,
My Edward's form, he looks to me
A statue in the skies.

Descend my love, the hour is come,
Why linger on the hill?
The sun hath left my quiet home,
But thou canst see him still;
Yet why a lonely wanderer stray,
Alone the joy pursue?
The glories of the closing day
Can charm thy M...

Poor Ellen married Andrew Hall,
Who dwells beside the moor,
Where yonder rose-tree shades the wall,
And woodbines grace the door.

Who does not know how blest, how loved
Were her mild laughing eyes
By every youth! - but Andrew proved
Unworthy of his prize.

In tippling was his whole delight,
Each sign-post barr'd his way;
He spent in muddy ale at night
The wages of the day.

Though Ellen still had charms, was young,
And he in manhood's prime,
She sad beside her cradle sung,
And sigh'd away her time.

One cold bleak night, the stars were hid,
In vain she wish'd him home;
Her children cried, half cheer'd, half chid,
"O when will father come!"

'Till Caleb, nine years old, upsprung,
And kick'd his stool aside,

Born in a dark wood's lonely dell,
Where echoes roar'd, and tendrils curl'd
Round a low cot, like hermit's cell,
Old Salcey Forest was my world.
I felt no bonds, no shackles then,
For life in freedom was begun;
I gloried in th' exploits of men,
And learn'd to lift my father's gun.

O what a joy it gave my heart!
Wild as a woodbine up I grew;
Soon in his feats I bore a part,
And counted all the game he slew.
I learn'd the wiles, the shifts, the calls,
The language of each living thing;
I mark'd the hawk that darting falls,
Or station'd spreads the trembling wing.

I mark'd the owl that silent flits,
The hare that feeds at eventide,
The upright rabbit, when he sits
And mocks you, ere he deigns to hide.
I heard the fox bark through t...

O for the strength to paint my joy once more!
That joy I feel when Winter's reign is o'er;
When the dark despot lifts his hoary brow,
And seeks his polar-realm's eternal snow.
Though black November's fogs oppress my brain,
Shake every nerve, and struggling fancy chain;
Though time creeps o'er me with his palsied hand,
And frost-like bids the stream of passion stand,
And through his dry teeth sends a shivering blast,
And points to more than fifty winters past,
Why should I droop with heartless, aimless eye?
Friends start around, and all my phantoms fly,
And Hope, upsoaring with expanded wing,
Unfolds a scroll, inscribed "Remember Spring."
Stay, sweet enchantress, charmer of my days,
And glance thy rainbow colours o'er my lays;
Be to poor Giles what thou hast ev...

You ask me, dear Nancy, what makes me presume
That you cherish a secret affection for me?
When we see the Flow'rs bud, don't we look for the Bloom?
Then, sweetest, attend, while I answer to thee.

When we Young Men with pastimes the Twilight beguile,
I watch your plump cheek till it dimples with joy:
And observe, that whatever occasions the smile,
You give me a glance; but provokingly coy.

Last Month, when wild Strawberries pluckt in the Grove,
Like beads on the tall seeded grass you had strung;
You gave me the choicest; I hop'd 'twas for Love;
And I told you my hopes while the Nightingale sung.

Remember the Viper: - 'twas close at your feet;
How you started, and threw yourself into my arms;
Not a Strawberry there was so ripe nor so sweet
As the li...

    By the Rev. Mr. C - ;

Hey, Giles! in what new garb art dresst?
For Lads like you methinks a bold one;
I'm glad to see thee so caresst;
But, hark ye! - don't despise your old one.
Thou'rt not the first by many, a Boy
Who've found abroad good friends to own 'em;
Then, in such Coats have shown their joy,
E'en their own Fathers have not known 'em.

Halt! ye Legions, sheathe your Steel:
Blood grows precious; shed no more:
Cease your toils; your wounds to heal
Lo! beams of Mercy reach the shore!
From Realms of everlasting light
The favour'd guest of Heaven is come:
Prostrate your Banners at the sight,
And bear the glorious tidings home.

The plunging corpse with half-clos'd eyes,
No more shall stain th' unconscious brine;
Yon pendant gay, that streaming flies,
Around its idle Staff shall twine.
Behold! along th' etherial sky
Her beams o'er conquering Navies spread;
Peace! Peace! the leaping Sailors cry,
With shouts that might arouse the dead.

Then forth Britannia's thunder pours;
A vast reiterated sound!
From Line to Line the Cannon roars,
And spreads the blazing joy around.
...

I am of opinion that Prefaces are very useless things in cases like the present, where the Author must talk of himself, with little amusement to his readers. I have hesitated whether I should say any thing or nothing; but as it is the fashion to say something, I suppose I must comply. I am well aware that many readers will exclaim - "It is not the common practice of English baronets to remit half a year's rent to their tenants for poetry, or for any thing else." This may be very true; but I have found a character in the Rambler, No. 82, who made a very different bargain, and who says, "And as Alfred received the tribute of the Welsh in wolves' heads, I allowed my tenants to pay their rents in butterflies, till I had exhausted the papilionaceous tribe. I then directed them to the pursuit of other animals, and obtained, by this easy method,...

'Come, Goody, stop your humdrum wheel,
Sweep up your orts, and get your Hat;
Old joys reviv'd once more I feel,
'Tis Fair-day; - ay, and more than that.

The Deliberation.

'Have you forgot, Kate, prithee say,
'How many Seasons here we've tarry'd?
'Tis Forty years, this very day,
'Since you and I, old Girl, were married

'Look out; - the Sun shines warm and bright,
'The Stiles are low, the paths all dry;
'I know you cut your corns last night:
'Come; be as free from care as I.

'For I'm resolv'd once more to see
'That place where we so often met;
'Though few have had more cares than we,
'We've none just now to make us fret.'

Kate scorn'd to damp the generous flame
That warm'd her aged Partner's bre...

Sweet Hope, so oft my childhood's friend,
I will believe thee still,
For thou canst joy with sorrow blend,
Where grief alone would kill.

When disappointments wrung my heart,
Ill brook'd in tender years,
Thou, like a sun, perform'dst thy part,
And dried my infant tears.

When late I wore the bloom of health,
And love had bound me fast,
My buoyant heart would sigh by stealth
For fear it might not last.

My sickness came, my bloom decay'd,
But Philip still was by;
And thou, sweet Hope, so kindly said,
"He'll weep if thou should'st die."

Thou told'st me too, that genial Spring
Would bring me health again;
I feel its power, but cannot sing
Its glories yet for pain.

But thou canst still my heart inspire,
And Heave...