PREFACE.

The Poems here offered to the Public were chiefly written during the interval between the concluding and the publishing of THE FARMER'S BOY, an interval of nearly two years. The pieces of a later date are, the Widow to her Hour-Glass, the Fakenham Ghost, Walter and Jane, &c. At the tune of publishing the Farmer's Boy, circumstances occurred which rendered it necessary to submit these Poems to the perusal of my Friends: under whose approbation I now give them, with some confidence as to their moral merit, to the judgment of the Public. And as they treat of village manners, and rural scenes, it appears to me not ill-tim'd to avow, that I have hopes of meeting in some degree the approbation of my Country. I was not prepar'd for the decided, and I may surely say extraordinary attention which the Public has shewn towards the Farmer's Boy: the consequence has been such as my true friends will rejoice to hear; it has produc'd me many essential blessings. And I feel peculiarly gratified in finding that a poor man in England may assert the dignity of Virtue, and speak of the imperishable

beauties of Nature, and be heard, and heard, perhaps, with greater attention for his being poor.

Whoever thinks of me or my concerns, must necessarily indulge the pleasing idea of gratitude, and join a thought of my first great friend Mr. LOFFT. And on this head, I believe every reader, who has himself any feeling, will judge rightly of mine: if otherwise, I would much rather he would lay down this volume, and grasp hold of such fleeting pleasures as the world's business may afford him. I speak not of that gentleman as a public character, or as a scholar. 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 saying it, that his private life is a lesson of morality; his manners gentle, his heart sincere: and I regard it as one of the most fortunate circumstances of my life, that my introduction to public notice fell to so zealous and unwearied a friend.[Footnote: I dare not take to myself a praise like this; and yet I was, perhaps, hardly at liberty to disclaim what should be mine and the endeavour of every one to deserve. This I can say, that I have reason to rejoice that Mr. George Bloomfield

introduced the Farmer's Boy to me. C. L.]

I have received many honourable testimonies of esteem from strangers; letters without a name, but fill'd with the most cordial advice, and almost a parental anxiety, for my safety under so great a share of public applause. I beg to refer such friends to the great teacher Time: and hope that he will hereafter give me my deserts, and no more.

One piece in this collection will inform the reader of my most pleasing visit to Wakefield Lodge: books, solitude, and objects entirely new, brought pleasures which memory will always cherish. That noble and worthy Family, and all my immediate and unknown Friends, will, I hope, believe the sincerity of my thanks for all their numerous favours, and candidly judge the Poems before them.

R. BLOOMFIELD. Sept. 29, 1801.

P.S. Since affixing the above date, an event of much greater importance than any to which I have been witness, has taken place, to the universal joy (it is to be hoped) of every inhabitant of Europe. My portion of joy shall be expressed while it is warm: and the reader will do sufficient justice, if he only believes it to be sincere.

October 10.

PEACE.

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. Return, ye brave! your Country calls; Return; return, your task is done: While here the tear of transport falls, To grace your Laurels nobly won.

Albion Cliffs—from age to age, That bear the roaring storms of Heav'n, Did ever fiercer Warfare rage? Was ever Peace more timely given? Wake! sounds of Joy: rouse, generous Isle; Let every patriot bosom glow. Beauty, resume thy wonted smile, And, Poverty, thy cheerful brow.

Boast, Britain, of thy glorious Guests; Peace, Wealth, and Commerce, all thine own: Still on contented Labour rests The basis of a lasting Throne. Shout, Poverty! 'tis Heaven that saves; Protected Wealth, the chorus raise: Ruler of War, of Winds, and Waves, Accept a prostrate Nation's praise.

ERRATA.

Page 28, line 1, for Mon read Man.

56, 13, for thy read my.

CONTENTS.

Richard and Kate: Ballad Walter and Jane: a Tale The Miller's Maid: a Tale The Widow to her Hour-Glass Market-Night: Ballad The Fakenham Ghost: Ballad The French Mariner: Ballad Dolly: Ballad A Visit to Whittlebury Forest A Highland Drover: Song A Word to Two Young Ladies On hearing of the Translation of the Farmer's Boy Nancy: Song Rosy Hannah: Song The Shepherd and his Dog Rover: Song Hunting Song Lucy: Song Winter Song

[Illustration]

RICHARD AND KATE: OR, FAIR-DAY.

A Suffolk Ballad.

'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 breast; Yet, ere determination came, She thus some trifling doubts express'd.

Difficulties—Consent.

'Night will come on; when seated snug, 'And you've perhaps begun some tale, 'Can you then leave your dear stone mug; 'Leave all the folks, and all the Ale?'

'Ay, Kate, I wool;—because I know, 'Though time has been we both could run, 'Such days are gone and over now;— 'I only mean to see the fun.'

She straight slipp'd off the Wall and Band, [Terms used in spinning] And laid aside her Lucks and Twitches: And to the Hutch [a chest] she reach'd her hand, And gave him out his Sunday Breeches.

His Mattock he behind the door And Hedging-gloves again replac'd; And look'd across the yellow Moor, And urg'd his tott'ring Spouse to haste.

The Walk to the Fair.

The day was up, the air serene, The Firmament without a cloud; The Bee humm'd o'er the level green Where knots of trembling Cowslips bow'd.

And RICHARD thus, with heart elate, As past things rush'd across his mind, Over his shoulder, talk'd to KATE, Who snug tuckt up, walk'd slow behind.

'When once a gigling Mawther you, 'And I a redfac'd chubby Boy, 'Sly tricks, you play'd me not a few; 'For mischief was your greatest joy.

'Once, passing by this very Tree, 'A Gotch [pitcher] of Milk I'd been to fill, 'You shoulder'd me; then laugh'd to see 'Me and my Gotch spin down the Hill'

Discourse on past Days.

'Tis true,' she said; 'but here behold, 'And marvel at the course of Time; 'Though you and I are both grown old, 'This Tree is only in its prime!'

'Well, Goody, don't stand preaching now; 'Folks don't preach Sermons at a FAIR: 'We've rear'd Ten Boys and Girls you know; 'And I'll be bound they'll all be there.'

Now friendly nods and smiles had they, From many a kind Fair-going face: And many a pinch KATE gave away; While RICHARD kept his usual pace.

At length arriv'd amidst the throng, Grand-children bawling hem'd them round; And dragg'd them by the skirts along Where gingerbread bestrew'd the ground.

The Arrival.—Country Sports.

And soon the aged couple spy'd Their lusty Sons and Daughters dear: When RICHARD thus exulting cried, 'Did'nt I tell you they'd be here?'

The cordial greetings of the soul Were visible in every face; Affection, void of all controul, Govern'd with a resistless grace.

'Twas good to see the honest strife, Which should contribute most to please; And hear the long-recounted life, Of infant tricks, and happy days.

But now, as at some nobler places, Amongst the Leaders 'twas decreed Time to begin the DICKY RACES; More fam'd for laughter than for speed.

Recollections.

RICHARD look'd on with wond'rous glee, And prais'd the Lad who ehanc'd to win; 'KATE, wan't I such a one as he? 'As like him, ay, as pin to pin?

'Full Fifty years are pass'd away 'Since I rode this same ground about: 'Lord! I was lively as the day! 'I won the High-lows out and out!

'I'm surely growing young again: 'I feel myself so kedge and plump. 'From head to foot I've not one pain; 'Nay, hang me if I cou'd 'nt jump.'

Thus spoke the ALE in RICHARD'S pate, A very little made him mellow; But still he lov'd his faithful KATE, Who whisper'd thus, 'My good old fellow,

The Departure.

'Remember what you promis'd me: 'And see, the Sun is getting low; 'The Children want an hour ye see 'To talk a bit before we go.'

Like youthful Lover most complying He turn'd, and chuckt her by the chin: Then all across the green grass hieing, Right merry faces, all akin,

Their farewell quart, beneath a 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 shook her wither'd hand; Her features spoke what joy she found; But utterance had made a stand.

An old Man's Joy.

The Children toppled on the green, And bowl'd their fairings down the hill; Richard with pride beheld the scene, Nor could he for his life sit still.

A Father's uncheck'd feelings gave A tenderness to all he said; 'My Boys, how proud am I to have 'My name thus round the Country spread!

'Through all my days I've labour'd hard, 'And could of pains and Crosses tell; 'But this is Labour's great reward, 'To meet ye thus, and see ye well.

'My good old Partner, when at home, 'Sometimes with wishes mingles tears; 'Goody, says I, let what wool come, 'We've nothing for them but our pray'rs.

Old Man's Joy continued.

'May you be all as old as I, 'And see you? Sons to manhood grow; 'And, many a time before you die, 'Be just as pleas'd as I am now.'

Then, (raising still his Mug and Voice,) 'An Old Man's weakness don't despise! 'I love you well, my Girls and Boys; 'GOD bless you all;'—so said his eyes——

For, as he spoke, a big round drop Fell bounding on his ample sleeve; A witness which he could not stop, A witness which all hearts believe.

Thou, FILIAL PIETY, wert there; And round the ring, benignly bright, Dwelt in the luscious half-shed tear, And in the parting word—Good Night.

The Return home.

With thankful Hearts and strengthen'd Love, The poor old PAIR, supremely blest, Saw the Sun sink behind the grove, And gain'd once more their lowly rest.

[Illustration]

WALTER AND JANE: or, THE POOR BLACKSMITH.

A Country Tale.

Bright was the summer sky, the Mornings gay, And Jane was young and chearful as the Day. Not yet to Love but Mirth she paid her vows; And Echo mock'd her as she call'd her Cows. Tufts of green Broom, that full in blossom vied, And grac'd with spotted gold the upland side, The level fogs o'erlook'd; too high to share; So lovely JANE o'erlook'd the clouds of Care;

Jane.

No meadow-flow'r rose fresher to the view, That met her morning footsteps in the dew; Where, if a nodding stranger ey'd her charms, The blush of innocence was up in arms, Love's random glances struck the unguarded mind, And Beauty's magic made him look behind. Duly as morning blush'd or twilight came, Secure of greeting smiles and Village fame, She pass'd the Straw-roof'd Shed, in ranges where Hung many a well-turn'd Shoe and glitt'ring Share; Where WALTER, as the charmer tripp'd along, Would stop his roaring Bellows and his Song.— Dawn of affection; Love's delicious sigh! Caught from the lightnings of a speaking eye, That leads the heart to rapture or to woe, 'Twas WALTER'S fate thy mad'ning power to know; And scarce to know, ere in its infant twine, As the Blast shakes the tendrils of the Vine,

The Separation.

The budding bliss that full of promise grew The chilling blight of separation knew. Scarce had he told his heart's unquiet case, And JANE to shun him ceas'd to mend her pace, And learnt to listen trembling as he spoke, And fondly judge his words beyond a joke; When, at the Goal that bounds our prospects here, Jane's widow'd Mistress ended her career: Blessings attended her divided store, The Mansion sold, (Jane's peaceful home no more,) A distant Village own'd her for its Queen, Another service, and another scene; But could another scene so pleasing prove, Twelve weary miles from Walter and from Love? The Maid grew thoughtful: yet to Fate resign'd, Knew not the worth of what she left behind. He, when at Eve releas'd from toil and heat, Soon miss'd the smiles that taught his heart to beat,

The Lover's-Journey.

Each sabbath-day of late was wont to prove Hope's liberal feast, the holiday of Love: But now, upon his spirit's ebbing strength Came each dull hour's intolerable length. The next had scarcely dawn'd when Walter hied O'er hill and dale, Affection for his guide: O'er the brown Heath his pathless journey lay, Where screaming Lapwings hail'd the op'ning day. High rose the Sun, the anxious Lover sigh'd; His slipp'ry soles bespoke the dew was dried: Her last farewell hung fondly on his tongue As o'er the tufted Furze elate he sprung; Trifling impediments; his heart was light, For Love and Beauty glow'd in fancy's sight; And soon he gaz'd on Jane's enchanting face, Renew'd his passion,—but, destroy'd his peace. Truth, at whose shrine he bow'd, inflicted pain; And Conscience whisper'd, 'Never come again.'

Self-Denial.

For now, his tide of gladness to oppose, A clay-cold damp of doubts and fears arose; Clouds, which involve, midst Love and Reason's strife, The poor man's prospect when he takes a wife. Though gay his journeys in the Summer's prime, Each seem'd the repetition of a crime; He never left her but with many a sigh, When tears stole down his face, she knew not why. Severe his task those visits to forego, And feed his heart with voluntary woe. Yet this he did; the wan Moon circling found His evenings cheerless, and his rest unsound; And saw th' unquenched flame his bosom swell: What were his doubts, thus let the Story tell A month's sharp conflict only serv'd to prove The pow'r, as well as truth, of Walter's love. Absence more strongly on his mind portray'd His own sweet, injur'd, unoffending Maid.

The renew'd Journey.

Once more he'd go; full resolute awhile, But heard his native Bells on every stile; The sound recall'd him with a pow'rful charm, The Heath wide open'd, and the day was warm; There, where a bed of tempting green he found, Increasing anguish weigh'd him to the ground; His well-grown limbs the scatter'd Daisies press'd, While his clinch'd hand fell heavy on his breast. 'Why do I go in cruel sport to say, "I love thee, Jane; appoint the happy day?" 'Why seek her sweet ingenuous reply, 'Then grasp her hand and proffer—poverty? 'Why, if I love her and adore her name, 'Why act like time and sickness on her frame? 'Why should my scanty pittance nip her prime, 'And chace away the Rose before its time? 'I'm young, 'tis true; the world beholds me free; 'Labour ne'er show'd a frightful face to me;

Love of Prudence.

'Nature's first wants hard labour should supply; 'But should it fail, 'twill be too late to fly. 'Some Summers hence, if nought our loves annoy, 'The image of my Jane may lisp her joy; 'Or, blooming boys with imitative swing 'May mock my arm, and make the Anvil ring; 'Then if in rags.—But, O my heart, forbear,— 'I love the Girl, and why should I despair? 'And that I love her all the village knows; 'Oft from my pain the mirth of others flows; 'As when a neighbour's Steed with glancing eye 'Saw his par'd hoof supported on my thigh: 'Jane pass'd that instant; mischief came of course; 'I drove the nail awry and lam'd the Horse; 'The poor beast limp'd: I bore a Master's frown, 'A thousand times I wish'd the wound my own. 'When to these tangling thoughts I've been resign'd, 'Fury or languor has possess'd my mind,

Recollections.

'All eyes have stared, I've blown a blast so strong; 'Forgot to smite at all, or smote too long. 'If at the Ale-house door, with careless glee 'One drinks to Jane, and darts a look on me; 'I feel that blush which her dear name will bring, 'I feel:—but, guilty Love, 'tis not thy sting! 'Yet what are jeers? the bubbles of an hour; 'Jane knows what Love can do, and feels its pow'r; 'In her mild eye fair Truth her meaning tells; 'Tis not in looks like her's that falsehood dwells. 'As water shed upon a dusty way 'I've seen midst downward pebbles devious stray; 'If kindred drops an adverse channel keep, 'The crystal friends toward each other creep; 'Near, and still nearer, rolls each little tide, 'Th' expanding mirror swells on either side: 'They touch—'tis done—receding bound'ries fly, 'An instantaneous union strikes the eye:

The Interview.

'So 'tis with us: for Jane would be my bride; 'Shall coward fears then turn the bliss aside?' While thus he spoke he heard a gentle sound, That seem'd a jarring footstep on the ground: Asham'd of grief, he bade his eyes unclose, And shook with agitation as he rose; All unprepared the sweet surprise to bear; His heart beat high, for Jane herself was there.— Flusht was her cheek; she seem'd the full-blown flower, For warmth gave loveliness a double power; Round her fair brow the deep confusion ran, A waving handkerchief became her fan, Her lips, where dwelt sweet love and smiling ease, Puff'd gently back the warm assailing breeze. 'I've travell'd all these weary miles with pain, 'To see my native village once again; 'And show my true regard for neighbour Hind; 'Not like you, Walter, she was always kind.'

Resentment and Tenderness.

'Twas thus, each soft actuation laid aside, She buoy'd her spirits up with maiden pride; Disclaimed her love, e'en while she felt the sting; 'What, come for Walter's sake!' 'Twas no such thing. But when astonishment his tongue releas'd, Pride's usurpation in an instant ceas'd: By force he caught her hand as passing by, And gaz'd upon her half averted eye; His heart's distraction, and his boding fears She heard, and answer'd with a flood of tears; Precious relief; sure friends that forward press To tell the mind's unspeakable distress. Ye Youths, whom crimson'd health and genuine fire Bear joyous on the wings of young desire, Ye, who still bow to Love's almighty sway, What could true passion, what could Walter say? Age, tell me true, nor shake your locks in vain, Tread back your paths, and be in love again;

Visit to a Friend.

In your young days did such a favouring hour Show you the littleness of wealth and pow'r? Advent'rous climbers of the Mountain's brow; While Love, their master, spreads his couch below— 'My dearest Jane,' the untaught Walter cried, As half repell'd he pleaded by her side; 'My dearest Jane, think of me as you may—' Thus—still unutter'd what he strove to say, They breath'd in sighs the anguish of their minds, And took the path that led to neighbour Hind's.

A secret joy the well-known roof inspir'd, Small was its store, and little they desir'd; Jane dried her tears; while Walter forward flew To aid the Dame; who to the brink updrew The pond'rous Bucket as they reach'd the well, And scarcely with exhausted breath could tell How welcome to her Cot the blooming Pair, O'er whom she watch'd with a maternal care.

The Expostulation.