The Farmers Boy | Page 9

seen her with a joy to both which even his own most expressive and pathetic language would imperfectly describe.... Seen other near, affectionate, and belov'd Relatives: review'd, with the feelings of a truly poetic and benevolent Mind, the haunts of his youth; the Woods and Vales, the Cot, the Field and the Tree, which even recollected after so many years and at a distance, had awaken'd in such a manner the energies of his Heart and Intellect, and had inspir'd strains which will never cease to be repeated with pleasure and admiration. That he has been receiv'd at BURY with an emulous desire of his society; and certainly with the greatest reason. I rejoice that I at length have been made personally acquainted with him: that I have seen him here, and at his Mother's, and at Bury: that I have discours'd with him; that we have made our rural walks together: that I have heard him read some of those Poems which are not yet printed; but which when they shall be so, will support fully and extend the Fame he has acquir'd. Though I have spent, occasionally, much of my life among persons worthy of Admiration and of Esteem, I can recollect few days so interesting and so valuable to me as these.
C.L.
TROSTON, 25 May, 1800.
What I have said in prose, p. ix of this Preface, is charmingly expressed in the language of the Muses by Mr. COLLIER, in his Miscellaneous Poems lately publish'd.
O where on earth can he a pleasure find?Whose heart th' extatic sweets of Love has known,?When in the jarring chaos of his mind?The gentle God no longer holds his throne!
ON REVISITING THE PLACE OF MY NATIVITY.
Though Winter's frowns had damp'd the beaming eye,?Through Twelve successive Summers heav'd the sigh,?The unaccomplish'd wish was still the same;?Till May in new and sudden glories came!?My heart was rous'd; and Fancy on the wing,?Thus heard the language of enchanting Spring:--
'Come to thy native groves and fruitful fields!?Thou know'st the fragrance that the wild-flow'r yields;?Inhale the Breeze that bends the purple bud,?And plays along the margin of the Wood.?I've cloth'd them all; the very Woods where thou?In infancy learn'd'st praise from every bough.?Would'st thou behold again the vernal day??My reign is short;--this instant come away:?Ere Philomel shall silent meet the morn;?She hails the green, but not the rip'ning corn.?Come, ere the pastures lose their yellow flow'rs:?Come now; with heart as jocund as the hours.'
Who could resist the call?--that, Giles had done,?Nor heard the Birds, nor seen the rising Sun;?Had not Benevolence, with cheering ray,?And Greatness stoop'd, indulgent to display?Praise which does surely not to Giles belong,?But to the objects that inspir'd his song.?Immediate pleasure from those praises flow'd:?Remoter bliss within his bosom glow'd!?Now tasted all:--for I have heard and seen?The long-remember'd voice, the church, the green;--?And oft by Friendship's gentle hand been led?Where many an hospitable board was spread.?These would I name,... but each, and all can feel?What the full heart would willingly reveal:?Nor needs be told; that at each season's birth,?Still the enamell'd, or the scorching Earth?Gave, as each morn or weary night would come,?Ideal sweetness to my distant home:--?Ideal now no more;--for, to my view?Spring's promise rose, how admirably true!!?The early chorus of the cheerful Grove,?Gave point to Gratitude; and fire to Love.?O Memory! shield me from the World's poor strife;?And give those scenes thine everlasting life!
ROB. BLOOMFIELD.
LONDON, MAY 30, 1800.
SPRING.
ARGUMENT.
_Invocation, &c. Seed time. Harrowing. Morning walks. Milking. The Dairy. Suffolk Cheese. Spring coming forth. Sheep fond of changing. Lambs at play. The Butcher, &c._
[Illustration]
SPRING
I.
O come, blest Spirit! whatsoe'er thou art,?Thou rushing warmth that hover'st round my heart,?Sweet inmate, hail! thou source of sterling joy,?That poverty itself cannot destroy,?Be thou my Muse; and faithful still to me,?Retrace the paths of wild obscurity.?No deeds of arms my humble lines rehearse,?No Alpine wonders thunder through my verse,?The roaring cataract, the snow-topt hill,?Inspiring awe, till breath itself stands still:?Nature's sublimer scenes ne'er charm'd mine eyes,?Nor Science led me through the boundless skies;?From meaner objects far my raptures flow:?O point these raptures! bid my bosom glow!?And lead my soul to ecstasies of praise?For all the blessings of my infant days!?Bear me through regions where gay Fancy dwells;?But mould to Truth's fair form what Memory tells.
Live, trifling incidents, and grace my song,?That to the humblest menial belong:?To him whose drudgery unheeded goes,?His joys unreckon'd as his cares or woes;?Though joys and cares in every path are sown,?And youthful minds have feelings of their own,?Quick springing sorrows, transient as the dew,?Delights from trifles, trifles ever, new.?'Twas thus with GILES: meek, fatherless, and poor:?Labour his portion, but he felt no more;?No stripes, no tyranny his steps pursu'd;?His life was constant, cheerful, servitude:?Strange to the world, he wore a bashful look,?The fields his study, Nature was his book;?And, as revolving SEASONS chang'd the scene?From heat