^^ LIBRARY ] CAL1FC JIA J % RURAL TALES, BALLADS, and SONGS: BY ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, AUTHOR OF THE FARMER'S BOY. LONDON: PRINTED FOR VERNOR AND HOOD, POULTRY; AND LONGMAN AND REES, PATERNOSTER ROW. J8Q2, IOAM STACK T. Benfley, Mater, Bolt Court, Fleet Street. ^53 PREFACE. I he Poems here offered to the public were chiefly written during the interval between the concluding, and the publifriing of " the " Farmer's Boy," an interval of nearly two years. The pieces of a later date are, " the " Widow to her Hour-Glafs," " The Faken- " ham Ghoji," " Walter and Jane," Sec. At the time of publishing the Farmer's Boy, circumftances occurred which rendered it neceffary to fubmit thefe poems to the per- uial of my Friends : under whofe approbation I now give them, with fome confidence as to their moral merit, to the j udgment of the public. And as they treat of village man- 7 181 iv PREFACE. ners, and rural fcenes, it appears to me not ill-tim'd to avow, that I have hopes of meet- ing in fome degree the approbation of my Country. I was not prepar'd for the decided, and I may fu rely fay extraordinary attention which The Public has fhewn towards the Far- mer's Boy : the confequence has been fuch as my true friends will rejoice to hear ; it has produc'd me many efTential bleflings. And 1 feel peculiarly gratified in finding that a poor man in England may affert the dig- nity of Virtue, and fpeak of the imperifhable beauties of Nature, and be heard, and heard, perhaps, with greater attention for his being poor. Whoever thinks of me or my concerns, muft neceflarily indulge the pleafing idea of gratitude, and join a thought of my firft great friend Mr. LorTt. And on this head, I be- lieve every reader, who has himfclf any feel- PREFACE. ing, will judge rightly of mine : if otherwife, I would much rather he would lay down this volume, and grafp hold of fuch fleeting plea- sures as the world's bufinefs may afford him. I fpeak not of- that gentleman as a public character, or as a fcholar. Of the former I know but little, and of the latter nothing. But I know from experience, and I glory in this fair opportunity of faying it, that his private life is a lefTon of morality ; his man- ners gentle, his heart fincere : and I 're- gard it as one of the moft fortunate circum- ftances of my life, that my introduction to public notice fell to fo zealous and unwea- ried a friend *. * I dare not take to myfelf a praife like this; and yet I was, perhaps, hardly at liberty to difclaim what fhould be mine and the endeavour of every one to deferve. This I can fay, that I have reafoil to rejoice that Mr. George <-Bloomfield introduced The Farmer's Boy to me, C. L. PREFACE. I have received many honourable tefti mo- nies of efteem from ftrangers; letters with- out a name, but fill'd with the mod cordial advice, and almoft a parental anxiety, for my fafety under fo great a fhare of public ap- plaufe. I beg to refer fuch friends to the great teacher Time: and hope that he will hereafter give me my deferts, and no more. One piece in this collection will inform the reader of my mod: pleafing vifit to Wake- field Lodge : books, folitude, and objects en- tirely new, brought pleafures which memory will always cherifh. That noble and worthy Family, and all my immediate and unknown Friends, will, I hope, believe the fincerity of my thanks for all their numerous favours, and candidly judge the poems before them. R. BLOOMFIELD. Sept. 29, 1801. PEACE. P. S. Since affixing the above date, an event of much greater importance than any to which I have been witnefs, has taken place, to the univerfal joy (it is to be hoped) of every in- habitant of Europe. My portion of joy fhall be exprefTed while it is warm. And the reader will do fufficient juflice, if he only believes it to be fincere. October io. PEACE. i Halt ! ye Legions, fheathe your Steel : Elood grows precious j fried no more : Ceafe your toils ; your wounds to heal Lo ! beams of Mercy reach the more ! From Realms of everlafting light The favoured gueft of Heaven is come : Proftrate your Banners at the fight, And bear the glorious tidings home* viii PEACE. 2 The plunging corpfe with half-closd eyes, No more mall ftain th' unconfcious brine; Yon pendant gay, that dreaming flies, Around its idle Staff lhall twine. Behold! along th' etherial iky Her beams o'er conquering Navies fpread - f Peace 1 Peace ! the leaping Sailors cry, With ihouts that might aroufe the dead. 3 Then forth Britannia's thunder pours -, A vaft reiterated found ! From Line to Line the Cannon roars, And fpreads the blazing joy around. Return, ye brave ! your Country calls - } Return ; return, your talk is done : While here the tear of tranfport falls, To grace your Laurels nobly won. PEACE. ix 4 Albion Cliffs — from age to age, That bear the roaring florms of Heav'n, Did ever fiercer Warfare rage, Was ever Peace more timely given ? Wake ! founds of Joy : route, generous Ille 5 • Let every patriot bofom glow. Beauty, refume thy wonted fmile, And, Poverty, thy cheerful brow. 5 Boaft, Britain, of thy glorious Guefts 5 Peace, Wealth, and Commerce, all thine own : Still on contented Labour refls The bafis of a lafting Throne. Shout, Poverty ! 'tis Heaven that favesj Protected Wealth, the chorus raife, Ruler of War, of Winds, and Waves, Accept a proftrate Nation's praife *. * A moft animated and pleafing Ode on an event mcft de~ Arable to Britain, France, and Mankind. C. L. CONTENTS. Pagt RlCHARB and Kate : Ballad 1 Walter and Jane : A Tale 13 The Millers Maid: A Tale 35 The Widow to her Hour-GIafs 5g Market-Night : Ballad 63 The Fakenham Ghojl : Ballad 70 The French Mariner : Ballad 78 Dolly: Ballad 83 A vifit to Whittlebury Fore/1 gO A Highland Drover : Soag 97 A ivord to tzuo Young Ladies 101 On hearing of the tranjlation of the Farmers Boy 104 Nancy : Song 106 Rojy Hannah : Song 109 The Shepherd and his Dog Hover ; Song . . Ill Hunting Song 113 Lucy : Song 115 Winter Song 117 RICHARD and KATE: OR f FAIR- DAY. A SUFFOLK BALLAD. I * Come, Goody, Hop your humdrum wheel, * Sweep up your orts, and get your Hat i ' Old joys reviv d once more I feel, 4 Tis Fair-day 5— ay, and more than that, 2 * Have you foigot, Kate, pflthee fay, * How many Seafons here we've tarry 'd ? 4 Tis Forty years, this very day, 4 Since you and I, old Girl, were married I B RICHARD akd KATE. The Deliberation. 3 c Look out 5 — the Sun fhines warm and bright, < The Stiles are low, the paths all dry 5 c I know you cut your corns laft night : * Come 5 be as free from care as L 1 For I'm refolv'd once more to fee ■ That place where we fo often met 5 < Though few have had more cares than we, • We've none jufl now to make us fret.* Kate fcornd to damp the generous flame That warm'd her aged Partner's breaft : Yet, ere determination came, She thus fome trifling doubts exprefs'd. RICHARD and KATE. Difficulties — Confent. 6 * Night will come on 5 when feated fnug, * And you've perhaps begun fome tale, ' Can you then leave your dear ilone rang 5 * Leave all the folks, and all the Ale?* * Ay Kate, I wool j — becaufe I know, * Though time has been we both could run, 9 Such days are gone and over now 5— * I only mean to fee the fun.' 8 She ftraight flipp'd off the Wall, and Band % And laid afide her Lucks and Twitches * : And to the Hutch f flie reach'd her hand, And gave him out his Sunday Breeches. * * Terms ufed in fpinning. f Hutch, a cheft. B 2 RICHARD and KATE. The Walk to the Fair; 9 His Mattock he behind the door And Hedging-gloves again replacd -, And look'd acrofs the yellow Moor, And urg'd his tott'ring Spoufe to hafte. 10 The day was up, the air ferene, The Firmament without a cloud 5 The Bee humm'd o'er the level green Where knots of trembling Cowilips bow'd. 11 And Richard thus, with heart elate, As pafl things rufh'd acrofs his mind, Over his fhoulder talk'd to Kate, Who fnug tuckt up, walk'd flow behind. RICHARD and KATE. Difcourfe on paft Days. 12 * When once a gigling Mawtheryou, ' And I a redfacd chubby Boy, * Sly tricks you play'd me not a few -, 4 For mifchief was your greateft joy.' 13 ' Once, paffing by this very Tree, « A Gotch * of Milk I'd been to nil, 1 You ihoulder'd me - } then laugh'd to fee * Me and my Gotch fpin down the Hill.* 14 * Tis true,' ihe faid }* 4 But here behold, : And marvel at the courfe of Time $ ' Though you and I are both grown old* * This Tree is only in its prime V * A pitcher. . RICHARD and KATE. The Arrival. 15 * Well, Goody, don't ftand preaching now 5 ' Folks don't preach Sermons at a Fair : * We've rear'd Ten Boys and Girls you know 5 * And I'll be bound they'll all be there.' 16 Now friendly nods and fmiles had they, From many a kind Fair-going face: And many a pinch Kate gave away, While Richard kept his ufual pace. 17 At length arriv'd amidft the throng, Grand- children bawling hem'd them round 5 And dragg'd them by the fkirts along Where gingerbread beftrew'd the ground* RICHARD and KATE. Country Sports. 18 And foon the aged couple fpy'd Their lufty Sons, and Daughters dear : — When Richard thus exulting cried, ' Did'nt I tell you they'd be here V The cordial greetings of the foul- Were vifible in every face; Affection, void of all controul, Govern'd with a refiftlefs grace. 20 'Twas good to fee the honeft (trife, Which fhould contribute mot!, to p]eafe>; And hear the long-recounted life, Of infant tricks, and happy days* 1 RICHARD and KATE. Recolle&ions. 21 But now, as at fome nobler places, Amongft the Leaders 'twas decreed Time to begin the Dicky Races 3 More fam'd for laughter than for fpeed. 22 Richard look'd on with wond'rous glee, And prais'd the Lad who chanc'd to win y 4 Kate, wa nt I fuch a one as he ? * As like him, ay, as pin to pin ?' 23 ' Full Fifty years are pafs'd away * Since I rode this fame ground about : * Lord ! I was lively as the day ! 1 1 won the High-lows out and out V RICHARD and KATE. The Departure. 24 * I'm furely growing young again : ' I feel myfelf fo kedge and plump. { From head to foot I've not one pain 5 * Nay, hang me if I cou'd nt jump.' 25 Thus fpoke the Ale in Richard's pate r A very little made him mellow -, But ftill he lov'd his faithful Kate, Who whifperd thus,. e My good old fellow/ 2(5 ' Remember what you promis'd me : * And fee, the Sun is getting low ; ( The Children want an hour ye fee* * To talk a bit before we go.' 10 RICHARD and KATE. Parental and Filial Feelings. 27 Like youthful Lover moft complying Lie turn'd, and chuckt her by the chin : Then all acrofs the green grafs hieing, Right merry faces, all akin, Their. farewell quart, beneath a tree That droop d its branches from above ; Awak'd the pure felicity That waits upon Parental Love* Kate view'd her blooming Daughters round, And Sons, who fhook jier wither'd hand : Her features fpoke what joy me found 5 But utterance had made a (land. RICHARD and KATE. 11 An old Man's Joy. 30 The Children toppled on the green, And bowl'd their fairings down the hilLj Richard with pride beheld the fcene, Nor could he for his life fit ftill. 31 A Father's uncheck'd feelings gave A tendernefs to all he faidj ' My Boys, how proud am I to have * My name thus round the Country fpread ! 32 * Through all my days IVe labour'd hard, 1 And could of pains and Croffes tell 5 ' But this is Labour's great reward, ' To meet ye thus, and fee ye well.' 12 RICHARD and KATE. Old Man's Joy continued. 33 * My good old Partner, when at home, * Sometimes with wifhes mingles tears 5 1 Goody, fays I, let what wool come, « We've nothing for them but our pray Vs. 34 * May you be all as old as I, 1 And fee your Sons to manhood grow; « And, many a time before you die, * Be juft as pleas'd as I am now/ 55 Then, (raifing fttll his Mug and Voice,) « An Old Man's weaknefs don't defpife ! * I love you well, my Girls and Boys; ' God blefs you all f . . . fo faid his eyes— RICHARD and KATE. 13 The Return home. 36 For, as he fpoke, a big round drop Fell bounding on his ample fleeve ; A witnefs which he could not flop, A witnefs which all hearts believe. 37 Thou, Filial Piety, wert there ; And round the ring, benignly bright, Dwelt in the lufcious half-fhed tear, And in the parting word — Good Night. 38 With thankful Hearts and tfrengthen d Love, The poor old Pair, fupremely bleft, Saw the Sun fink behind the grove, And gain'd once more their lowly reft. .14 RICHARD and KATE. I do not wonder that one of the firft men of the age for ftrength and compafs of mind, for tafte, variety of infor- mation, high and amiable qualities, a man generally admir'd, jefpe&ed, and belov'd, even in times like thefe, has exprefs'd the mofl. particular fatisfaction in this fimpie, characleriilic, and mofl engaging Tale. C. L» April iSoo. WALTER and JANE: OR, THE POOR BLACKSMITH. A COUNTRY TALE. Bright was the fummer fky, the Mornings gay. And Jane was young and chearful as the Day. Not yet to Love but Mirth fhe paid her vows 3 And Echo mock'd her as me call'd her Cows. Tufts of green Broom, that full in bloffom vied, And grac'd with fpotted gold the upland fide, The level fogs o'erlook ! d 5 too high to mare 5 So lovely Jane o'erlook'd the clouds of Care> 16 WALTER and JANE. Jane. v. 9. No meadow-flow 'r rofe frefher to the view, That met her morning footfleps in the dew 5 Where, if a nodding Granger ey'd her charms, The blufh of innocence was up in arms, Love's random glances flruck the unguarded mind. And Beauty's magic made him look behind. Duly as morning blufh'd or twilight came, Secure of greeting fmiles and Village fame, She pafs'd the Straw-roof'd Shed, in ranges where Hung many a well-turn'd Shoe and gYittYingS/iare} Where Walter, as the charmer tripp'd along, Would flop his roaring Bellows and his Song.— Dawn of affection ; Love's delicious fight Caught from the lightnings of a fpeaking eye, That leads the heart to rapture or to woe, 'Twas Walter's fate thy mad'ning power to know $ And fcarce to know, ere in its infant twine, As the Blaft makes the tendrils of the Vine, 7 WALTER and JANE. The Separation. The budding blifs that full of promife grew The chilling blight of reparation knew. Scarce had he told his heart's unquiet cafe, And Jane to fhun him ceas'd to mend her pace. And learnt to liften trembling as he fpoke, And fondly judge his words beyond a joke j When, at the Goal that bounds our profpeds here* Jane's widow 'd MiArefs ended her career •, Bleflings attended her divided ftore, The Manilon fold, (Jane's peaceful home no more,) A diftant Village own'd her for its Queen^ Another fervice, and another fcenej But could another fcene fo pleating prove, Twelve weary miles from Walter and from Love ? The Maid grew thoughtful : Yet to Fate refign'd, Knew not the worth of what fhe'd left behind. He, when at Eve releas'd from toil and heat, Soon mifs'd the fmiles that taught his heart to beat, C M WALTER and JANE. The Lover's Journey. v. 35. Each fabbath-day of late was wont to prove Hopes liberal feafl, the holiday of Love: But now, upon his fpirit's ebbing firength Came each dull hours intolerable length. The next had fcarcely dawn'd when Walter hied O'er hill and dale, Affection for his guide : O'er the brown Heath his pathlefs journey lay, Where fcreaming Lnpwingshail d the opning day. High rofe the Sun, the anxious Lover flgh'd ; His flipp'ry foles befpoke the dew was dried : Her laft farewell hung fondly on his tongue As o'er the tufted Furze elate he fprung ; Trifling impediments 5 his heart was light, For Love and Beauty glow'd in fancy's tight 3 And foon he gaz'd on Jane's enchanting face, Kenew'd his pafllon, — but, deftroy'd his peace. Truth, at whofe fhrine he bow'd, inflicted pain 5 And Confcience whifper d, u never come again" WALTER and JANE. 19 v.63. Self-Denial. For now, his tide of gladnefs to oppofe, A clay-cold damp of doubts and fears arofe j Clouds, which involve, midft Love and Reafon's urife, The poor man's profpect when he takes a wife. Though gay his journeys in the Summer's prime, Each feemd the repetition of a crime; Me never left her but with many a figh, When tears fiole down his face, ilie knew not why. Severe his talk thofe vi-fits to forego, And feed his heart with voluntary woe, Yet this he did ; the wan Moon circling found His evenings cheerlefs, and his reft unfound; k And faw th' unquenched flame his bofom fweli : Wiiat were his doubts, thus let the Story tell. A month's fharp conflict: only ferv'd to prove The pow'r, as well as truth, of Walter s love. Abfence more ftrongly on his mind portray 'd His own fweet, injured, unoffending Maid. C 2 20 WALTER and JANE. The renew'd Journey. v 8i» Once more he'd go ; foil refolute awhile, But heard his native Bells on every llile; The found recall'd him with a pow'rful charm, The Heath wide opend, and the day was warm ; There, where a bed of tempting green he found, Increafmg anguilh weigh'd him to the ground 5 His well-grown limbs the fcatterd Dairies prefs'd, While his clinch' d hand fell heavy on his breaft. 4 Why do I go in cruel fport to fay, " I love thee Jane, appoint the happy day ?" * Why feek her fweet ingenuous reply, * Then grafp her hand and proffer — poverty ? * Why, if I love her and adore her name, r Why act like time and flcknefs on her frame ? * Why fhould my fcanty pittance nip her prime, 1 And chace away the Rofe before its time ? ' I'm young 'tis true 5 the world beholds me free ; ' labour ne'er ihow'd a frightful face to rae - 9 WALTER and JANE. 21 v.99. Love of Prudence. 4 Natures firft wants hard labour Jhoufd fupply ; * But iliould it fail, 'twill be too late to fly . 4 Some Summers hence, if nought our loves annoy, 4 The image of my Jane may lifp her joy; * Or, blooming boys with imitative fwing ' May mock my arm, and make the Anvil ring; ' Then if in rags. — But, O my heart, forbear, — ' I love the Girl, and why mould I defpair ? ' And that I love her all the village knows ; < Oft from my pain the mirth of others flows; * As when a neighbours Steed with glancing eye * Saw his par d hoof fupported on my thigh : < Jane pafs'd that inflant; mifchief came of courfej 4 1 drove the nail awry and lam'd the Horfe; 4 The poor beaft limpd: I bore a Matters frown, ' A thoufand times I wiuYd the wound my own. * When to thefe tangling thoughts I've been refign'd, * Fury or languor has poftefs'd my mind, 7 22 WALTER and JANE. Recollections. v. J 17. * All eyes have flared, I've blown a blaft fo ftrong; c Forgot to fmite at all, or fmote too long. 4 If at the Ale-houfe door, with carelefs glee ' One drinks to Jane, and darts a look on me ; 1 1 feel thatblufh which ber dear name will bring, ' I feel : — but, guilty Love, 'tis not thy (ling ! * Yet what are jeers ? the bubbles of an hour j ' Jane knows what Love can do, and feels its pow'r; 4 In her mild eye fair Truth her meaning tells ; * 'Tis not in looks like hers that falfehood dwells. * As water died upon a dully way * I've feen midft downward pebbles devious flray y * If kindred drops an adverfe channel keep, * The cryftal friends toward each other creep y * Near, and frill nearer, rolls each little tide, ' Th' expanding mirror fwells on either fide : * They touch — 'tis done — receding bound' ries fly, « An inftantaneous union ftrikes the eye : WALTER and JANE. 23 v. 135. The Interview. * So 'tis with us ; for Jane would be my bride $ * Shall coward fears then turn the blifs afide V While thus he fpoke he heard a gentle found, That feem'd a jarring footftep on the ground : Afham'd of grief, he bade his eyes unclofe, And (hook with agitation as he rofe ; All unprepared the fweet furprife to bear, His heart beat high, for Jane herfelf was there. — Flufht was her cheek ; flie feem'd the full-blown flower, For warmth gave lovelinefs a double power; Round her fair brow the deep confufion ran, A waving handkerchief became her fan, Her lips, where dwelt fweet love and fmiling eafe, PufTd gently back the warm availing breeze. 4 'Ive travelld all thefe weary miles with pain, * To fee my native village once again ; 24 WALTER and JANE. ■ . , ,. .,._ , . Relentment and Tendcrnefsi v. 153. • And fhow my true regard for neighbour Hind-, 1 Not like you,, W alter, Jlu was always kind.' 'Twas thus, each foft fenfation laid afide, She buoy d her fpirits up with maiden pride ; Difclaim'd her love, e'en while (lie felt the fling; 1 What, come for Walter's fake !' 'Twas nofuch thing But when aftoni foment his tongue releas'd, Pride's ufurpation in an inflant ceasd : By force he caught her hand as palling by, And gaz'd upon her half averted eye; His heart's diftraclion, and his boding fears She heard, and anfwer'd with a flood of tears; Precious relief 5 fure friends that forward prefs To tell the mind's unfpeakable diftrefs. Ye Youths, whom crimfon'd health and genuine fire Bear joyous on the wings of young defire, Ye, who ftill bow to Loves almighty fway, What could true pafTion, what could Walter fay ? WALTER and JANE. 2$ v. 171. Vifit to a Friend. Age, tell me true, nor {hake -your locks in vain, Tread back your paths, and be in love again ; In your young days did fuch a favouring hour Show you the littlenefs of wealth and powr, Advent'rous climbers of the Mountain's brow, While Love, their matter, fpreads his couch below. " My dearer! Jane," the untaught Walter cried,. As half repell'd he pleaded by her fide ; u My deareft Jane, think of me as you may" Thus — {till unutterd what he {trove to fay, They breath'd in fighs the anguifli of their minds>. And took the path that led to neighbour Hind's*. A fecret joy the well-known roof infpird, Small was its (lore, and little they defir'dj Jane dried her tears ; while Walter forward flew To aid the Dame 5 who to the brink updrew The pond rous Bucket as they reach'd the well, And fcarcely with exhaulled breath could tell 26 WALTER and JANE. TheExpoftulation. v. 189. How welcome to her Cot the blooming Pair, O'er whom fhe watch' d with a maternal care. " What ails thee, Jane?" the wary Matron cried > With heaving breaft the modeft Maid reply'd, Now gently moving back her wooden Chair To fhun the current of the cooling air j " Not much, good Dame -, I'm weary by the way; ** Perhaps, anon, I've fomething elie to fay." Now, while the Seed-cake crumbled on her knee, And Snowy Jafmine peeped in to fee; And the tranfparent Lilac at the door, Full to the Sun its purple honors bore, The clam'rous Hen her fearlefs brood difplayd, And march' d around ; while thus the Matron faidr 4 Jane has been weeping, Walter 5— prithee why? • I've feen her laugh, and dance, but never cry. * But I can guefs \ with her you fhould have been, ' When late I &W you loit 'ring on the green ; WALTER and JANE, 27 ■v. 207. Pleadings of Experience for Love with extreme Prudence. 4 I'm an old Woman, and the truth may tell: • I fay then, Boy, you have not us'd her well.' Jane felt for Walter ; felt his cruel pain, While Pity's voice brought forth her tears again, • Don't fcold him Neighbour, he has much to fay, 4 Indeed he came and met me by the way.' The Dame refum'd — * Why then, my Children, why Do fuch young bofoms heave the piteous fi-gh ? ' The ills of Life to you are yet unknown 5 ' Death's fev'ring fhaft, and Poverty's cold frown : ' I've felt them both, by turns : — but as they pafs'd, 4 Strong was my trail, and here I am at laft.. • When I dwelt young and cheerful down the Lane 4 (And, though I fay it, I was much like Jane,) 4 O'er flow ry fields with Hind, I lov'd to frray, ' And talk, and laugh, and fool the time away : 4 And Care defied '; who not one pain could give> 4 Till the thought came of how we were to live j 1 28 WALTER and JANE. The Vi&ory. v. 22 5. ' And then Love plied his arrows thicker (till : * And prov'd victorious; — as he always will. 9 We brav'd Life's ftorm together 5 while that Drone, * Your poor old Uncle, Walter, livd alone. ' He died the other day : when round his bed 4 No tender foothing tear Affection fhed — * Affection ! 'twas a plant he never knew; — 1 Why fho-uld he feaft on fruits he never grew ?' Walter caught fire : nor was he charm' d alone With confcious Truth's firm elevated tone; Jane from her feat fprang forward, half afraid, Attefting with a blufh what Goody faid. Her Lover took a more decided part : — (O ! 'twas the very Chord that touch'd his heart,)— Alive to the belt feelings man can prize, A Bridegroom's tranfport fparkled in his eyes ; Love, conquering power, with unreftri&ed range Silenc'd the arguments of Time and Change.; WALTER and JANE. 2g v. 243. The Confefiion. And led his vot'ry on, and bade him view, And prize the light-wing d moments as they flew ; All doubts gave way, all retro fpe&ive lore, Whence cooler Reafon tortur d him before ; Companion of times, the Labrers hire, And many a truth Refle&ion might infpire, Sunk powerlefs. " Dame, I am a fool," he cried ; 44 Alone I might have reafon'd till J died. " I caus'd thofe tears of Jane s : — but as they fell " How much I felt none but ourfelves can tell. " While daftard fears withheld me from her fight, " Sighs reign'd by day and hideous dreams by nighty 44 'Twas then the Soldier's plume and rolling Drum 4t Seem'd for a while to ftrike my forrows dumbj 4i To fly from Care then half refolv'd I flood, *' And without horror mus'd on fields of blood, 44 But Hope prevail'd. — Be then the fword reflgn'd ; *' And I'll make Shares for thofe that ftay behind, 30 WALTER and JANE. Unexpe&ed Vifit. v. 261. " And you, fweet Girl," He would have added more, Had not a glancing fhadow at the door Aunouncd a gueft, who bore with winning grace His well-tirnd errand piclur d in his face. Around with filent reverence they flood 5 A blamelefs reverence — the man was good. Wealth he had fome, a match for his defires, Firflon the lift of a&ive Country 'Squires. Seeing the ytmthful pair with downcaft eyes, Unmov'd by Summer- flowers and cloudlefs flues, Pafs flowly by his Gate 5 his book refignd, He watch'd their fleps and folio w'd far behind, Bearing with inward joy, and honeft pride, A truft of Walter's kinfman ere he died, A hard-earn d mite, depo filed with care, And with a mifers fpirit worfhipt there. WALTER and JANE. 31 v. 27c The Difficulty remov'd. He found what oft the generous bofom feeks, In the Dame's court'feys and Jane's blufhing cheeks, That confcioufnefs of Worth, that freeborn Grace, Which waits on Virtue in the meaner! place. * Young Man, I'll not apologize to you, € Nor name intrusion, for my news is true 5 * 'Tis duty brings me here : your wants I've heard, 4 And can relieve : yet be the dead rever'd. * Here, in this Purfe, (what ihould have cheer d a Wife,) ' Lies, half the favings of your Uncle's life ! ' I know your hiftory, and your wifhes know 3 * And love to fee the feeds of Virtue grow. * I've a fpare Shed that fronts the public road: * Make that your Shop 5 I'll make it your abode. * Thus much from me, — the reft is but your due 5 € That initant twenty pieces fprung to view.' 32 WALTER and JANE. How littJe of outward Good fuffices for Happinefs. v. 297. Goody, her dim eyes wiping, rais'd her brow, And faw the young pair look they knew not how; Perils and Power while humble minds forego, Who gives them half a Kingdom gives them woe 5 Comforts may be procur'd and want defied, Heav'ns ! with how fmall a Sum, when right ap- plied! Give Love and honeft Induftry their way, Clear but the Sun-rife of Life's little day, Thofe we term poor {hall oft that wealth obtain, For which th' ambitious figh, but figh in vain : Wealth that flill brightens, as its ftores increafej The calm of Conference, and the reign of peace. Walter's enamour d Soul, from news like this, Now felt the dawnings of his future blifs ; E'en as the Red-bread fhelt'ring in a bower, Mourns the fhort darknefs of a palling Shower,] WALTER atoJANE. 33 v. 315. Joy above Wealth. Then, while the azure fky extends around, Darts on a worm that breaks the moiften'd ground, And mounts the dripping fence, with joy elate, And fhares the prize triumphant with his mate ; So did the Youth \ — the treafure ftraight became An humble fervant to Love's facred flame -, Glorious fubje&ion ! — Thus his filence broke : Joy gave him words -, flili quick'ning as he fpoke. 4 Want was my dread, my wifhes were but few ; 1 Others might doubt, but Jane thofe wi(hes knew : 4 This Gold may rid my heart of pains and (ighsj ** But her true love is flill my greateft prize. ■ Long as I live, when this bright day comes round, ' Beneath my Roof your noble deeds fhall found 5 * But, fir ft, to make my gratitude appear, "f I'll fhoe your Honour's Horfes for a Year ; 1 If clouds mould threaten when your Corn is down, 1 I'll lend a hand, and fummon haJf the town 3 D 34 WALTER and JANE. Grateful franknefs. v * 333* * If good betide, I'll found it in my fongs, ' And be the firfl avenger of your wrongs : 1 Though rude in manners, free I hope to live: * This Ale 's not mine, no Ale have I to give ) * Yet, Sir, though Fortune frown'd when I was born, * Lets drink eternal friendship from this Horn. * How much our prefent joy to you we owe, * Soon our three Bells fhall let the Neighbours know 5 * The found (hall raife e'en ftooping Age awhile, * And every Maid fhall meet you with a fmile ; ' Long may you live — the wifh like lightning flewj By each repeated as the 'Squire withdrew. * Long may you live/ his feeling heart rejoirfd; Leaving well-pleas 'd fuch happy Souls behind. Hope promis'd fair to cheer them to the end 5 With Love their guide, and Goody for their fiiend. . I think this talc, and efpecially the beginning and middle of it, ha much of the clear, animated, eafy narrative, the fami- liar but graceful diction, ani the cha- ge of numbers Co inte- rcfting in Dr yden. In [the following poem thefe excellen- cies are ail greater. C L. THE MILLER'S MAID. A TALE. Near the High road upon a winding ftream An honeft Miller rofe to Wealth and Fame : The noblefl Virtues cheer d his lengthen'd days, And all the Country echo'd with his praife : His Wife, the Do&refs of the neighb'ring Poor *, Drew conftantpray'rs and bleffings round his door. One Summer's night, (the hour of reft was come) Darknefs unufual overfpread their home j A chilling blaft was felt : the foremofl cloud Sprinkl'd the bubbling Pool ', and thunder loud, * This village and the poor of this neighbourhood know what it is to have pofieft fuch a blefFi; g, and feel at this mo- ment what it is to lofe it by death. C. L. Troftoriy 13th. of Septexber lSoi. D 2 36 THE MILLER'S MAID. TheTempeit. v. II. Though diftant yet, menacd the country round, And fill'd the Heavens with its folemn found. Who can retire to reil when tempefts lour? Nor wait the iilue of the coming hour ? Meekly refignd (he fat, in anxious pain ; He fill'd his pipe, and liftcn'd to the rain That batter'd furioufly their flrong abode, Roar'd in theDamm, and lafh'd the pebbled~road : When, mingling with the ftorm, confusd and wild, They heard, or thought they heard, a fcreaming Child: The voice approach'dj and'midfl the thunders ro3r, Now loudly begg d for Mercy at the door. Mercy was there: the Miller heard the call j His door he open'd 5 when a fudden fquall Drove in a wretched Girl ; who weeping flood, Whilil the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood. THE MILLER'S MAID. 37 v. 29. The Young Stranger. With kind officioufnefs the tender Dame Ilous'd up the dying embers to a flame -, Dry cloaths procur'd, and cheefd her fhivring gueft, And footh'd the forrows of her infant breaft. But as fhe ftript her moulders, lily-white, What marks of cruel ufage fhock'd their fight I Weals, and blue wounds, moft piteous to behold Upon a Child yet fearcelyTen years old. The Miller felt his indignation rife, Yet, as the weary ftranger clos'd her eyes, And feenVd fatigu'd beyond her ftrength and years, t: Sleep, Child, (he faid), and wipe away your tears." They watclfd her {lumbers till the ftorm was done ; When thus the generous Man again begun. ' See, flutt'ring fighs that rife againft her will, ' And agitating dreams difturb her (till ! ' Dame, we lliould know before we go to refl, ' Whence comes this Girl, and how me came diftreft. 6 38 THE MILLER'S MAID. The fimple Story. v. 37. ■ Wake her, and afk 5 for (lie is forely bruis'd : 1 1 long to know by whom (he's thus mifus'd. * Child, what's your name ? how came you in the ftorm ? * Have you no home to keep you dry and warm ? ' Who gave you all thofe wounds your moulders ■ (how? * Where are your Parents ? Whither would you go ?' The Stranger burfting into tears, look'd pale, And this the purport of her artlefs tale. ' I have no Parents ; and no friends befide : * I well remember when my Mother died : ' My Brother cried $ and fo did I that day : ' We had no Father 5— he was gone away \ "■ That night we left our home new cloaths to wear : r The Worl-houfe found them j we were carried there. 1 We lov'd each other dearly -, when we met 1 We always fhar d what trifles we could get THE MILLER'S MAID. 3Q v. come'* Another hindrance yet he had to feel : As from the door they tripp'd with nimble heeU A poor old Man, foot-founder'd and alone, Thus urgent fpoke, in Trouble's genuine tone : " My pretty Maid, if happincfs you fcek, " May difappointment never fade your check ! — E _ 52 THE MILLER'S MAID. TheS I.e.-' T 1 . u Yours be the joy; — -yet, feel another's woe: u O leave fume little gift before you go." His words flruck home 5 and .back ihe turned again, (The ready friend of indigence and pain,) To banilh hunger from his fhatter'd frame 5 And clofe behind her, Lo, the Miller came, With Jug in hand, and cried, u George, why " fuch hafle ? tc Here; take a draught; and let that Soldier tafte." '* Thanks for your bounty, Sir 3" the Veteran faidj Threw down his Wallet, and made bare his head.; And flraight began, though mixd with doubts and fears, Th' unprefacd Hiftory of his latter years. -* r I crofs'd th' Atlantic with our Regiment brave, * Where Sicknefs fweeps whole Regiments to the grave; THE MILLER'S MAID. 53 v. 299. The Surprize. c< Yet I've efcap'd; and bear my arms no more 5 *■ My age difcharg'd me when I came on fhore. * My Wife, I've heard,!' — and here he wip'd his eyes, — " In the cold corner of the Church-yard lies. " By her confent it was I left my home : w Employment fail'd, and poverty was come 5 * The Bounty tempted me - } — (lie had it all : H We parted - } and I've feen my betters fall. w Yet, as I'm fpar'd, though in this piteous cafe, " I'm traveling homeward to my native place; " Though mould I reach that dear remember'd fpot, * Perhaps Old Grainger will be quite forgot." All eyes beheld young George with wonder {tart : Strong were the fecret bodings of his heart 5 Yet not indulg'd : for he with doubts furvey'd By turns the Stranger, and the lovely Maid. 54 fHE MILLER'S MAID. v. 317. The Difcovery. w Had you no Children ? v — u Yes, young Man j. I'd two : •* A Boy, if flill he lives, as old as you : u Yet not my own ; but likely fo to prove ; " Though but the pledge of an unlawful Love : " I cherinYd him, to hide a Stfitrt fhame : M He ihard my beft affections, and my name. " But why, young folks, Ibould I detain you here ? •' Go : and may bleffings wait upon your cheer, H 1 too will travel on 5 perhaps to find " The only treafure that I left behind. " Such kindly thoughts my fainting hopes revive! — >* Phcele, my Cherub, art thou flill alive ? : ' Ccmld Nature hold .1— Could youthful Love for- bear ! George clafp d the wond'ring Maui, and whifper'd, < Thee! THE MILLER'S MAID. 55 v « 335* ^ ne happy Relations now found. ( You re mine for ever/ — O, fuftain the reft; « And hufli the tumult of your throbbing breaftV Then to the Soldier tum'd, with manly pride, And fondly led his long-intended Bride : 1 Here, fee your Child; nor wifh a fweeter fievr'r. ' 'Tis George that fpeaksj thou'lt blefs the happy- hour !• — s Nay, be compos'd ; for all will yet be well, ' Though here ourbiftory's too long to tell/ A long-loft Father found, the myftery cleard, What mingled tranfports in her face appear'd ! The gazing Veteran ftood with hands uprais'd — « Art thou indent my Child! then, God be prais'd/ O'er his rough cheeks the tears profulcly fpread *, Such as fools fay become not Men to ilied ; Paft hours of blifs, regenerated charms, Jlofe, when he felt bis Daughter in his aim*'. 56 THE MILLER'S MAID. The blifs of difmtererted Benevolence. v. 353 So tender was the fcene, the generous Dame Wept, as fhe told of Phoebe s virtuous fame, And the good Host, with - geftures palTing ftrange, Abftra&ed feem'd through fields of joy to range: "Rejoicing that his favour'd Roof fhould prove Virtue's afylum, and the nurfe of Love 5 Rejoicing that to him the taik was given, While his full Soul was mounting up to Heav'n. But now, as from a dream his Reafon fprung, And heartieft greetings dwelt upon his tongue : The founding Kitchen floor at once receiv'd The happy group, with all their fears reliev'd : "Soldier," he cried, "you've found your Girl; €t 'tis true : u But fuffer me to be a Father too y u For, never Child that blefh a Parent's knee, " Could fhow more duty than fne has to me, THE MILLER'S MAID. 57 v. 371. The adopted Daughter. " Strangely fhe came 3 Affliction chasd her hard : " I pitied her ; — and this is my reward ! 44 Here fit you down ; recount your perils o'er: " Henceforth be this your home ; and grieve no more: 44 Plenty hath fhower'd her dewdrops on my head f ** Care vifits not my Table, nor my Bed. " My heart's warm wifhes thus then I fulfill :— •- 94 My Dame and I can live without the Mill : 44 George, take the whole ; I'll near you Hill re- main, 44 To guide your judgment in the choice of Grain : " In Virtues path commence your profperous life 5- * And from my hand receive your worthy Wife. •* Rife, Phoebe-, rife, my Girl ! — kneel not to me; "But to that Pow'r who interpos'd for thee. " Integrity hath mark'd your favourite Youth y u Fair budding Honour, Conftancy, and Truth z 3 58 THE MILLER'S MAIl>. v. 389. Perfect Content : hopes and profpects of Goodnefs. M Go to his arms 5 — and may unfullied joys " Bring fmiling round me, rofy Girls and Boys ! " 111 love them for thy fake. And may your days H Glide on, as glides the Stream that never ftays 5 " Bright as whole mingled bed, till life's decline, (( May all your Worth, and all your Virtues fhine !" I believe there has been no fuch Poem in its kind as the Miller's Maid, fince the days of Dryden, f>r eafe and beauty of language 5 concife, clear and intereiTing narrative $ lweet and full flow of verfe j happy choice of the fubje&, anw, And jog along thy deftin'd way : But when I glean the fultry fields, When Earth her yellow Harveft yields^ Thou get'ft a Holiday. A Steady as Truth, on either end Thy daily talk performing well, Thou'rt Meditation's conftant friend, And itrikTt the Heart without a Bell: 62 THE WIDOW, fee. Come, lovely May ! Thy lengthen'd day Shall gild once more my native plain ^ Curl-inward here, fweet Woodbine flaw r j- " Companion of the lonely hour, 4S I'll turn thee up again." There is fomething very pleafing in the lyric ftansa here ufed. It is a very harmonious and characteriftic form of verfi- fication : which, after having flept, if I miftake not, above a Century, is here happily reviv'd. The turn of thought is na- tural, affecting, and poetic. C. Lc MARK ET-NIGHT. ■* O Winds, howl not fo long and loud ; ' Nor with your vengeance arm the fnow : '* Bear hence each heavy- loaded cloud ; * And let the twinkling Star-beams glow. 4 Now fweeping floods rufh down the fiope, * Wide Scattering ruin. — Stars, mine foon ! ' No other light my Love can hope ; 4 Midnight will want the joyous Moon. G 64 MARKET. NIGHT. ■' O guardian Spirits! — Ye that dwell 4 Where woods, and pits, and hollow ways, c The lone night-trav'ller's fancy fwell ■« With fearful tales, of older days, — c Prefs round him:— guide his willing fleed ' Through darknefs, dangers, currents, fnows ; 4 Wait where, from fhelt'ring thickets freed, 4 The dreary Heath's rude whirlwind blows. * From darknefs ru firing o'er his way, • The Thorn s white load it bears on high ! « Where the fhort furze all fhrouded lay, 4 Mounts the dried grafs; — Earth's boforn dry. MARK ET -NIGHT. 65 6 ' Then o'er the Hill with furious fweep ' It rends the elevated tree 1 Sure footed bead thy road thou It keep ' Nor ftonn nor darknefs ftartles thee !' ( O bleft alfurance, (trufty deed,) ' To thee the buried road is known 5 ' Home, all the fpur thj^feotdeps need, ' When lpofe the frozen rein is thrown.' ' Between the roaring blafls that fhake ' The naked Elder at the door, < Though not one prattler to me fpeak, * Their fleeping fighs delight me more/ F 66 MARKET-NIGHT. 9 * Sound is their reft : — they little know ' What pain, what cold, their Father feels ; ' But dream, perhaps, they fee him now, ' While each the promis'd Orange peels.' 10 * Would it were fo ! — the fire burns bright, 1 And on the warming trencher gleams ; ( In Expectation's raptur'd fight ' How precious his arrival feems t 11 ■ I'll look abroad !— 'tis piercing cold I— * How the bleak wind afTails his breaft ! 1 Yet fome faint light mine eyes behold : 1 The ftorm is verging o'er the Weft.' MARKET-NIGHT. 67 12 e There {bines zStar 1 — O welcome Sight ! — * Through the thin vapours brightening ftill ! * Yet, 'twas beneath the faireft night 1 The murd'rer flatn'd yon lonely Hill.' 13 * Mercy, kind Heav'n ! fuch thoughts difpel ! ■' No voice, no footftep can I hear !' (Where Night and Silence brooding dwell, Spreads thy cold reign, heart -chilling Fear.) 14 * Diftreffing hour ! uncertain fate ! * O Mercy, Mercy, guide him home ! — < Hark ! — then I heard the diftant gate,—? — * Repeat it, Echo \ quickly, come !* F 2 6$ MARKET- NIGHT. 15 * One mindte now will eafe my fears .... * Or, frill more wretched mult I be ? ' No : furely Heaven has fpar d our tears : * I fee him, cloathd in fnow j . . . V/V he.*- 16 ' Where have you ftay'd ? put down your load. ' How have you borne the ftorm, the cold ? ' What horrors did I not forbode * That Beaft is worth his weight in gold.' 17 Thus fpoke the joyful Wife ; — then ran And hid in grateful fleams her head : Dapple was hous'd, the hungry Man With joy glanc'd o'er the Children's bed. MARKET-NIGHT. 69 18 e What, all afleep !' — £0 heft; he cried : 1 O what a night I've travell'd through ! f Unfeen, unheard, I might have died 5 ' But Heaven has brought me fafe to you. 19 1 Dear Partner of my nights and days, ' That fmile becomes thee ! — Let us then ' Learn, though mifhap may crofs our ways, ' It is not ours to reckon when.' I judge not for other readers ; and it 13 neeolefs ; but to me Market-Night is excuifitely and almoft fingularly pleafing, by the natural force and lendernefs of the fweetnefs of the numbers, tne eafy yet animated and chara&eriftic beauty of the ftyle and manner. C. L» Sept. 1801. THE FAKENHAM GHO ST. A BALLAD, The Lawns were dry in Euflon Park 5 (Here Truth * infpires my Tale) The lonely footpath, (till and dark, Led over Hill and Dale. * This Ballad is founded on a fa 61. The circujnftance occurred perhaps long before I was born : but is ftill related by my Mother, and fome of the oldeft inhabitant* in that part of the country, R. B. THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 2 Benighted was an ancient Dame, And fearful hafte fhe made To gain the vale of Fakenbam, And hail its Willow (hade* Her footfteps knew no idle flops, But follow'd fafter ftill ; And echoed to the darkfome Copfe That whifper'd on the Hill ; Where clam'rous Rooks, yet fcarcely huflui Befpoke a peopled fhade $ And many a wing the foliage brufh'd, And hov'ring circuits made. 72 THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 5 The dappled herd of grazing Deer That fought the Shades by day, Now flarted from her path with fear, And gave the Stranger way. Darker it grew; and darker fears Came o'er her troubled mind $ When now, a fhort quick ftep ftie hears Come patting clofe behind. She turn'd ; it llopt '.— nought could (lie fee Upon the gloomy plain ! But, as fhe ftrove the Sprite to flee, She heard the fame again. THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 73 8 Now terror feiz'd her quaking frame : For, where the path was bare, The trotting Ghoft kept on the fame ! She mutter'd many a pray r. Yet once again, amidft her fright She tried what fight could do; When through the cheating glooms of night, A monster flood in view. 10 Regardlefs of whate'er (he felt, It follow'd down the plain ! She own'd her fins, and down {lie knek, And faid her pray 'rs again. " 71 THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 11 Then on {he fped : and Hope grew ftrong, The white park gate in view ; Which pufhing hard, fo long it fwung That Ghoft and all pafs'd through. 12 Loud fell the gate againft the poll ! Her heart-ftrings like to crack : For, much ihe feard the grifly Ghoft Would leap upon her back. 13 Still on, pat, pat, the Goblin went, As it had done before •. — Her ftrength and refolution fpent She fainted at the door. THE FAKENHAM GHOST. ?& 14 Out came herHuiband much furprisd : Out came her Daughter dear : Good-natur'd Souls ! all unadvis'd Of what they had to fear. 15 The Candle's gleam pierc'd through the night, Some fhort fpace o'er the green ; And there the little trotting SpritG Distinctly might be feen. l§ An Afs s Foal had loft its Dam Within the fpacious Park - 7 And fimple as the playful Lamh> Had follow'd in the dark. 76 THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 17 No Goblin he ; no imp of fin : No crimes had ever known. They took the fhaggy ftranger in, And reard him as their own. 18 His little hoofs would rattle round Upon the Cottage floor : The Matron learn'd to love the found That frightend her before. A favorite the Ghoft became; And, 'twas his fate to thrive : And long he liv'd and fpread his fame, And kept the joke alive. 7 THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 77 20 For many a laugh went through the Vale; And fome convidion too : — „ Each thought fome other Goblin tale, Perhaps, was jufl as true *. * A charming little ftory : excellently told: and moft ple^fingly and pointedly concluded. C. L. S--pt. 1801. THE FRENCH MARINER, A BALLAD. An Old Trench Mariner am I, Whom Time hath render'd poor and gray j Hear, conquering Britons, ere I die, What anguifh prompts me thus to fay. 2 IVe rode o'er many a dreadful wave, I've feen the reeking blood defcend : I've heard the laft groans of the brave; — The fliipmate dear, the fteady Friend. THE FRENCH MARINER. 79 'Twas when Be Grajfe the battle join'd And (truck, on April's fatal morn : I left three fmiling boys behind, And fa w my Country's Lillie torn. 4 There, as I brav'd the ftorms of Fate, Dead in my arms my Brother fell ; Here fits forlorn his widow'd Mate, Who weeps whene'er the tale I tell. Thy reign, fweet Peace, was o'er too foon ; War, piecemeal, robs me of my joy : For, on the bloodflain'd j£ry? of June Death took my elJeJi favorite Boy, SO THE FRENCH MARINER. 6 The other two enrag'd arofe, c Our Country claims our lives,' they faid. With them I loft my Soul's repofe, That fatal hour my laft hope fled. With Bruey's the proud Nile they fought : Where one in ling ring wounds expir'd j . While yet the other bravely fought The Orient's magazine was fir'd. And mull; I mourn my Country's fhame? And envious curfe the conquering Foe ? No more I feel that thirft of Fame -, — All I can feel is private woe. THE FRENCH MARINER. 81 E'en all the joy that VicYry brings, (Her bellowing Guns, and flaming pride) Cold, momentary comfort flings Around where weeping Friends refide. 10 Whofe blighted bud no Sun mall cheer, Whofe Lamp of Life no longer fhine : Some Parent, Brother,. Child, moft dear, Who ventur'd, and who died like mine. 11 Proud crerted Fiend, the World's worft foe, Ambition ; canft thou boafl one deed, Whence no unflghtly horrors flow, Nor private peace is feen to bleed. G B2 THE FRENCH MARINER. 12 Ah ! why do thefe Old Eyes remain To fee fucceeding mornings rile! My Wife is dead, my Children flain, And Poverty is all my prize. 13 Yet fhall not poor enfeebled Age Breathe forth revenge - } . . . but rather fay, O God, who feed the Battle's rage, Take from men's Hearts that rage away. 14 From the vindictive tongue of ftrife, Bid Hatred and falfe Glory flee; That babes may meet advancing life, Nor feel the woes that light on me. I can hardly imagine any thing more great, generous, and pathetic r than the fubjett, fcntiinent, and exprefiion of thi« Ballad. C.L. DO LLY. Ingenuous trufi, and confidence of Love?* The Bat began with giddy wing His circuit round the Shed, the Tree 5 And clouds of dancing Gnats to fing A fummer-night's ferenity. Darknefs crept flowly o'er the Eaft ! Upon the Barn- roof watch' d the Cat j Sweet breath'd the ruminating Beaft At reft where Dolly mufing fat, G 2 84 DOLLY. A iimple Maid, who could employ The filent lapfe of Evening mild, And lov'd its folitary joy : For Dolly was Reflection's child. He who had pledg'd his word to be Her life's dear guardian, far away, The flow'r of Yeoman Cavalry, Eeftrode a Steed with trappings gay. And thus from memory's treafur'd fweets, And thus from Love's pure fount (lie drew That peace, which bufy care defeats, And bids our pleafures b]oom anew. DOLLY. 85 Six weeks of abfence have I borne Since Henry took his fond farewell : The charms of that delightful morn My tongue could thus for ever tell. He at my "Window whittling loud, Arous'd my lightfome heart to go : Day, conqu'ring climb'd from cloud to cloud $ The fields all wore a purple glow. We rtroU'd the bordering rlow'rs among : One hand the Bridle held behind ; The other round my waift was flung : Sure never Youth fpoke half lo kind ! 86 DOLLY. The rifing Lark I could but hear $ And jocund feem'd the fong to be t But fweeter founded in my ear, ? Will Dolly iiill be true to me !" 10 From the rude Dock my ikirt had fwept A fringe of clinging burrs fo green ; Like them our hearts ftill clofer crept, And hook'd a thoufand holds unfeen. 11 High o'er the road each branching bough Its globes of filent dew had fhedj And on the pure-wauYd fand below The dimpling drops around had fpread. DOLLY. 8? The fweet-brier op'd its pink-ey'd rofe, And gave its fragrance to the gale ; Though modeft flow'rs may fweets difclofe* More fweet was Henry's earned tale. He feem'd, methought, on that dear morn. To pour out all his heart to me$ As if, the reparation borne, The coming hours would joylefs be, 14 A bank rofe high befide the way, And full againft the Morning Sun - 7 Of heavnly blue there Violets gay His hand invited one by one. 88 DOLLY*. 15 The pofy with a fmile he gave $ I faw his meaning in his eyes : The wither d treafure ftill I have j My bofom holds the fragrant prize. 16 With his laft kifs he would have vow'd ; But bleffings crouding forcd their way : Then mounted he his Courfer proud ; His time elaps'd he could not flay. Then firft I felt the parting pang;— Sure the worft pang the Lover feels ! His Horfe unruly from me fprang, The pebbles flew beneath his heels ; DOLLY. 89 18 Then down the road his vigour tried, His rider gazing, gazing ftill ; " My dear eft, Til he true? he cried : — ■ And, if he lives, I'm fure he will. Then hafte, ye hours, hade, Eve and Morn, Yet ftrew your bleffings round my home : Ere Winter's blafts fhall flrip the thorn My promis'd joy, my love, will come. Highly animated, natural, and engaging. C. L. LINES, OCCASIONED BY A VISIT TO WH1TTLEBURY FOREST, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, IN AUGUST, 1800. ADDRESSED TO MY CHILDREN. 1 Genius of the Foreft Shades ! Lend thy pow'r, and lend thine ear \ A Stranger trod thy lonely glades, Amidft thy dark and bounding Deer> Inquiring Childhood claims the verfe, O let them not inquire in vain 5 Be with me while I thus rehearfe The glories of thy Sylvan Reign. A VISIT, &c. 9.1 2 Thy Dells by wint'ry currents worn, Secluded haunts, how dear to me ! From all but Nature's converfe borne, No ear to hear, no eye to fee. Their honour' d leaves the green Oaks rear d, And crown'd the upland's graceful fwell; While anfwering through the vale was heard Each diftant Heifer's tinkling bell. 3 Hail, Greenwood {hades, that ftretching far, Defy e'en Summer's noontide pow'r, When Auguft in his burning Car Withholds the Cloud, withholds the ShowV. The deep-ton'd Low from either Hill, Down hazel aifles and arches green ; (The Herd's^ rude tracks from rill to rill) Roar d echoing through the folemn fcene. 7 $2 A VISIT TO i From my charm'd heart the numbers fprung, Though Birds had ceas'd the choral lay : I poufd wild raptures from my tongue, And gave delicious tears their way. Then, darker (hadows feeking ftill, Where Human foot had feldom nray'd, I read aloud to every Hill Sweet Emma's Love, " the Nut-brown Maid." 5 Shaking his matted mane on high The gazing Colt would raife his head y Or, tim'rous Doe would ruining fly, And leave to me her grarTy bed : Where, as the azure iky appear'd Through Bow'rs of every varying form, 'Midft the deep gloom methought I heard The daring progrefs of the ftorm. 3 WHITTLEBURY FOREST. 93, (5 How would each fweeping pond'rous bough Refill, when ftraight the Whirlwind cleaves, Dafhing in ftrength'ning eddies through A roaring wildernefs of leaves! How would the prone defending fhow'r From the green Canopy rebound ! How would the lowland torrents pour ! How deep the pealing thunder found I 7 But Peace was there : no lightnings blazd:— - No clouds obfcur'd the face of Heav'n : Down each green op'ning while I gaz'd My thoughts to home, and you, were giv'n, O tender minds! in life's gay morn Some clouds muft dim your coming day ; Yet, bootlefs pride and falfehood fcorn, And peace like this fhall cheer your way, §4 A VISIT TO 8 Now, at the dark Wood's ftately fide, Well pleas'd I met the Sun again ; Here fleeting Fancy travell'd wide ! My feat was deftin'd to the Main : For, many an Oak lay ftretch'd at length, Whofe trunks (with bark no longer fheath'd) Had reach'd their full meridian ftrength Before your Father's Father breath'd 1 9 Perhaps they'll many a conflict brave, And many a dreadful ftorm defy 3 Then groaning o'er the adverfe wave Bring home the flag of victory. ft Go, then, proud Oaks 5 we meet no more ! Go, grace the fcenes to me denied, The white Cliffs round my native fhore, And the loud Ocean's fwelling tide. WHITTLEBURY FOREST. 95 10 € Genius of the Foreft Shades/ Sweet, from the heights of thy domain, When the grey ev'ning fhadow fades, To view the Country's golden grain ! To view the gleaming Village Spire 'Midft diftant groves unknown to me ; Groves, that grown bright in borrow' d fire, Bow o'er the peopled Vales to thee ! 11 Where was thy Elfin train that play Round Wakes huge Oak, their favourite tree? May a poor fon of Song thus fay, Why were they not reveal'd to me 1 Yet, fmiling Fairies left behind, Affe£Uon brought you to my view 5 To love and tendernefs reflgn'd, I fat me down and thought of you, 96 A VISIT, &c. 12 When Morning ftill unclouded rofe, RefrehYd with fleep and joyous dreams, Where fruitful fields with woodlands clofe, I trac'd the births of various ftreams. From beds of Clay, here creeping rills Unfeen to parent Oufe would Ileal ; Or, gulhing from the northward Hills, Would glitter through Toves winding dale. 13 But ah ! ye cooling fprings, farewell ! Herds, I no more your freedom fharej But long my grateful tongue ihall tell What brought your gazing ftranger there. ' Genius of the Foreft Shades,' ' Lend thy power, and lend thine ear $' Let dreams (till lengthen thy long glades, And bring thy peace and (ilence here. Thefe lyric rtanzas have much of the folemn pidurefque, and pathetic. And the addrefs to the author's children gives a neW and peculiar intereft to the dercription. C. L, Sept. 25. 1801. SONG FOR A HIGHLAND DROVER RETURNING FROM ENGLAND. Now fare-thee-well, England ; no further I'll roam j But follow my (hadow that points the way home : Your gay fouthern Shores fhall not tempt me to itayj For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play ! 'Tis this makes my Bonnet fet light on my brow, Gives my finews their Jftrength and my bofom its glow. H 93 HIGHLAND DROVER. Farewell, Mountaineers ! my companions, adieu 3 Soon, many long miles when I'm fever'd from you, I fhall mifs your white Horns on the brink of the Bourne, And o'er the rough Heaths, where you'll never return : But in brave Englifh pafturesyou cannot complain, While your Drover fpeeds back to his Maggy again. O Tweed ! gentle Tweed, as I pafs your green vales, More than life, more than Love my tir'd Spirit inhales -, There Scotland, my darling, lies full in my view, With her bare footed LarTes and Mountains foblue: To the Mountains away j my heart bounds like the Hind ; For home is ib fweet, and my Maggy fo kind. HIGHLAND DROVER. 99 4 As day after day I full follow my courfe, And in fancy trace back every Stream to its fource, Hope cheers me up hills, where the road lies before O'er hills juft as high, and o'er tracks of wild Moor; The keen polar Star nightly rifing to view; But Maggy's my Star/ juft as fteady and true, 5 O Ghofts of my Fathers ! O heroes, look down ? Fix my wandering thoughts on your deeds of re- nown, For the glory of Scotland reigns warm in my breaft, And fortitude grows both from toil and from reft; May your deeds and your worth be for ever in view. And may Maggy bear fons not unworthy of yen. II 2 100 HIGHLAND DROVER. 6 Love, why do you urge me, fo weary and poor? I cannot flep fafter, I cannot do more ; I've pafs'd filver Tweed -, e'en the Tay flows behind: Yet fatigue I'll difdain 5 — my reward I (hall find 5 Thou, fweet fmile of innocence, thou art my prize; And the joy that will fparkle in Maggy's blue eyes. 7 Shell watch to the fouthward ; . . . perhaps (he will (igh, That the way is fo long, and the Mountains fo high 5 Perhaps fome huge Rock in the dufk (he may fee, And will fay in her fondnefs, " that furely is he?" Good Wifeyoure deceivdj I'm (till far from my home; Go, deep, my dear Maggy, — to-morrow 111 come. Natural, affc&ionate, fpirited, and poetica'. C. L. A WORD TO TWO YOUNG LADIES. When tender Rofe-trees firft receive On half-expanded Leaves, the Shower - 7 Hope's gay eft pictures we believe, And anxious watch each coming flower. 2 Then, if beneath the genial Sun That fpreads abroad the full-blown May, Two infant Stems the reft out-run, Their buds the firft to meet the day, 102 A WORD TO With joy their opning tints we view, While morning's precious moments fly : My pretty Maids, 'tis thus with you> The fond admiring gazer, I. Preferve, fweet Buds, where'er you be, The richeft gem that decks a Wife $ The charm of female moclejly : And let fweet Mufic give it life. Still may the favouring Mnfe be found : Still circumfpea the paths ye tread : Plant moral truths in Fancy's ground y And meet old Age without a dread. t TWO YOUNG LADIES. 103 (5 Yet, ere that comes, while yet ye quaff The cup of Health without a pain, I'll (hake my grey hairs when you laugh, And, when you ling, be young again. Partial and interelting in all refpe&s. C. L. Both the young Ladies had addreflbd to me a few complimentary lines, (and I am forry that thofe of the elder filler were never in my poiTeffion ;) in return for which I fent the above. It was received on the day on which the younger completed her ninth year. Surely it cannot be afcribed to vanity, if, in gratitude to a moft amiable family, I here preferve verbatim an effort of a child nine years old. I have the more pleafure in doing it, becaufe J kn:io them to be her own. R. B. " Accept, dear Bard, the Mufe's genuine thought, M And take not ill the tribute of my heart : i( For thee the laureat wreath of praife I'll bind ; M None that have read thy commendable mind " Can let it pafs unnotie'd — nor can I — u For by thy lays I know thy fympathy." F. P, ON HEARING OF THE TRANSLATION OF PART OP THE FARMER'S BOY INTO latin; By the Rev. Mr. C-r Hey Giles ! in what new garb art drefst ? For Lads like you methinks a bold one - 7 I'm glad to fee thee fo carefst ; But, hark ye ' — don't defpife your old one. FARMER'S BOY, &c. 105 Thou rt not the firft by many a Boy Who've found abroad good friends to own 'eraj Then, in fuch Coats have fhown their joy, E'en their own Fathers have not known 'em. Lively and pointed, C. L. NANCY: A SONG. 1 You afk me, dear Nancy, what makes me prefume That you cherifh a fecret affection for me ? When we fee the Flowrs bud, don't we look for the Bloom? Then, fweeteft, attend, while I anfwer to thee. 2 When we Young Men with paftimes the Twilight beguile, I watch your plump cheek till it dimples with joy : And obferve, that whatever occafions the fmile, You give me a glance $ but provokingly coy. 1 NANCY. 107 a Lafl Month, when wild Strawberries pluckt in the Grove, Like beads on the tall feeded grafs you had ftrungj, You gave me the choicer! 5 I hop'd 'twas for Love f And I told you my hopes while the Nightingale fung. 4 Kemember the Viper : — 'twas clofe at your feet, How you ftarted, and threw yourfelf into my arms; Not a Strawberry there was fo ripe nor fo fweet As the lips which I kifs'd to fubdue your alarms. 5 As I pull'd down the clutters of Nuts for my Fair, What a blow I receiv'd from a flrong bending bough y Though Lucy and other gay larles were there,. Not one of them iliow'd fuch companion as you* 108 NANCY. 6 And was it companion ? — by Heaven 'twas more ! A telltale betrays you ; — that blum on your cheek. Then come, deareft Maid, all your trifling give o'er, And whifper what Candour will teach you to fpeak. 7 Can you {lain my fair Honour with one broken vow ? Can you fay that I've ever ocean* on' d a pain ? On Truth's honeft bafe let your tendernefs grow : I fwear to be faithful, again and again. Simply pleafing. CL ROSY HANNAH. A Spuing overhung with many a flowV, The grey fand dancing in its bed, Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower, Sent forth its waters near my head: A rofy Lafs approach'd my view; I caught her blue eye's modeft beam : The ftranger nodded " how d'ye do !" And leap'd acrofs the infant ftream. 2 The water heedlefs pafs'd away : With me her glowing image ftay'd* I ftrove, from that aufpicious day, To meet and blefs the lovely Maid. 3 110 ROSY HANNAH. 3 I met her where beneath our feet Through downy Mofs the wild-Thyme grew 3 Nor Mofs e'laftic, flow'rs though fweet, Match'd Hannah's cheek of rofy hue. 4 I met her where the dark Woods wave, And fhaded verdure fkirts the plain ; And when the pale Moon riling gave New glories to her cloudy train. From her fweet Cot upon the Moor Our plighted vows to Heaven are flown j Truth made me welcome at her door, And rofy Hannah is my own. This delightful little fong is charmingly fet to mujtc by Mr. tsAAC Bloomfield, the brother to the autho-. In thus fpeaking my opinion of the mufic, I fpeak, not only my own jfentiments, but th >fe of a lady diftinguiihed by her voice, fkil!« tafte, and expreflion. C. L. 'j? SONG. THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG ROVER. Rover, awake ! the grey Cock crows ! Come, (hake your coat and go with me ! High in the Eaft the green Hill glows ; And glory crowns our fhelf ring Tree. The Sheep expect us at the fold : My faithful Dog, let's hade away, And in his earlieft beams behold, And hail, the fource of cheerful day. 2 Half his broad orb o'erlooks the Hill* And, darting down the Valley flies: At every cafement welcome (till ; The* golden fummons of the ikies. 112 SON G. Go, fetch my Staff 5 and oer the dews Let Echo waft thy gladfome voice. Shall we a cheerful note refufe When rifing Morn proclaims, u rejoice*" 3 Now then well ftart; and thus I'll fling Our flore, a trivial load to bear : Yet, ere night comes, fhould hunger fling, I'll not encroach on Rovers fhare. The frefh breeze bears its fweets along ; The Lark but chides us while we flay : Soon Hi all the Vale repeat my fong 5 Go brufli before, away, away. This ftory is indeed, " full of life and vivifying foul." 1 hear this alf<> is fet to mufic by the author's brother. And I am fure that it is highly fuited to mufical expreffion. C. L. 29th Sept. 1 80 J. HUNTING SONG 1 Ye darkfome Woods where Echo dwells, Where every bud with freedom fwells To meet the glorious day : The morning breaks 3 again rejoice ; And with old Ringwood's well-known voice Bid tunetul Echo play. 2 We come, ye Groves, ye Hills, we come : • The vagrant Fox fhall hear his doom, And dread our jovial train. The fhriil Horn founds, the courfer flies, While every Sportfman joyful cries, u There's Ringwood's voice again." I 114 HUNTING-SONG. 3 Ye Meadows, hail the coming throng j Ye peaceful Streams that wind along, Repeat the Hark-away : Far o'er the Downs, ye Gales that fweep, The daring Oak that crowns the fteep, The roaring peal convey, 4 The chiming notes of chearful Hounds, Hark! how the hollow Dale refounds ; The funny Hills how gay. But where s the note, brave Dog, like thine ? Then urge the Steed, the chorus join, 'TisRingwood leads the way. LUCY: A SONG. I Thy favourite Bird is foaring Hill : My Lucy, hade thee o'er the dale y The Stream's let loofe, and from the Mill- All (ilent comes the balmy gale ; . Yet, fo lightly on its way, . Seems to whifper, " Holiday." 2 The pathway flowers that bending meet And give the Meads their yellow hue,. The May-bum and the Meadow-fweet Referve their fragrance all for you. Why then, Lucy, why delay ? Let us fhare the Holiday, I 3 116 SON G. 3 Since there thy fmiles, ray charming Maid, Are with unfeigned rapture feen, To Beauty be the homage paid j Come, claim the triumph of the Green. Here's my hand, come, come away y Share the merry Holiday. 4 A promife too my Lucy made, (And fhall my heart its claim reflgn ?) That ere May-flowers again mould fade, Her heart and hand fhould both be mine. Hark 'ye, Lucy, this is May ; Love mall crown our Holiday , Lively and toterefting. C^t* WINTER SONG. i Dear Boy, throw that Icicle down, And f weep this deep Snow from the door: Old Winter comes on with a frown ; A terrible frown for the poor. In a Seafon fo rude and forlorn How can age, how can infancy bear The filent neglect and the fcorn Of thofe who have plenty to fpare t 2 Frefh broach'd is my Calk of old Ale, Well-tim'd now the froft is fet in -, Here's Job come to tell us a tale, We'll make him at home to a piu* 118 WINTER SONG. While my Wife and I balk o'er the fire, The roll of the Seafons will prove, That Time may diminiih defire, Bat cannot extinguifh true love. 3 O the pleafures of neighbourly chat, If you can but keep fcandal away, To learn what the world has been at, And what the great Orators fay $ Though the Wind through the crevices (ing, And Hail down the chimney rebound ; I'm happier than many a king While the Eeilows blow Bafs to the found. 4 Abundance was never my lot : But out of the trifle that's given, That no curfe may alight on my Cot, I'll diftribute the bounty of Heaven > WINTER SONG. lip The fool and the flave gather wealth ; But if I add nought to my flore, Yet while I keep confcience in health, I've a Mine that will never grow poor. This fong pleafes by natural and virtuous fentiment, and all the free emanation of a good heart : though in diction it might have been a little more felecl, without injuring fimplicity. C. L. Oft. 8th, 1801. THE END. T. Benfley, Printer, Bolt Court, Fleet Street, London.