The Farmers Boy | Page 9

I rejoice in that Fame which is just to living Merit, and waits
not for the Tomb to present the tardy and then unvalued Wreath: I
rejoice in the sense express'd not only of his Genius, but of his pure,
benevolent, amiable Virtue, his affectionate Veneration to the DEITY,
and his good Will to all.... Obscurity and Adversity have not broken;
Fame and Prosperity, I am persuaded, will not corrupt him.
I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of mentioning that, after an
absence of twelve years, the Author of the Farmer's Boy has revisited
his native Plains. That he has seen his Mother in health and spirits: 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