Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs, Robert Bloomfield [top 100 books of all time checklist txt] 📗

'twas a plant he never knew;--
'Why should he feast on fruits he never grew?'

WALTER caught fire: nor was _he_ charm'd alone
With conscious Truth's firm elevated tone;
JANE from her seat sprang forward, half afraid,
Attesting with a blush what Goody said.
Her Lover took a more decided part:--
(O! 'twas the very Chord that touch'd his heart,)--
Alive to the best feelings man can prize,
A Bridegroom's transport sparkled in his eyes;
Love, conquering power, with unrestricted range
Silenc'd the arguments of Time and Change;
And led his vot'ry on, and bade him view,
And prize the light-wing'd moments as they flew:

_The Confession._

All doubts gave way, all retrospective lore,
Whence cooler Reason tortur'd him before;
Comparison of times, the Lab'rer's hire,
And many a truth Reflection might inspire,
Sunk powerless. 'Dame, I am a fool,' he cried;
'Alone I might have reason'd till I died.
'I caus'd those tears of Jane's:--but as they fell
'How much I felt none but ourselves can tell.
'While dastard fears withheld me from her sight;
'Sighs reign'd by day and hideous dreams by night;
''Twas then the Soldier's plume and rolling Drum
'Seem'd for a while to strike my sorrows dumb;
'To fly from Care then half resolv'd I stood,
'And without horror mus'd on fields of blood,
'But Hope prevail'd.--Be then the sword resign'd;
'And I'll make _Shares_ for those that stay behind,
'And you, sweet Girl,'------
He would have added more,
Had not a glancing shadow at the door

_Unexpected Visit._

Announc'd a guest, who bore with winning grace
His well-tim'd errand pictur'd in his face.
Around with silent reverence they stood;
A blameless reverence--the man was good.
Wealth he had some, a match for his desires,
First on the list of active Country 'Squires.
Seeing the youthful pair with downcast eyes,
Unmov'd by Summer-flowers and cloudless skies,
Pass slowly by his Gate; his book resign'd,
He watch'd their steps and follow'd far behind,
Bearing with inward joy, and honest pride,
A trust of WALTER'S kinsman ere he died,
A hard-earn'd mite, deposited with care,
And with a miser's spirit worshipt there.
He found what oft the generous bosom seeks,
In the Dame's court'seys and JANE'S blushing cheeks,
That consciousness of Worth, that freeborn Grace,
Which waits on Virtue in the meanest place.

_The Difficulty remov'd_

'Young Mon, I'll not apologize to you,
'Nor name intrusion, for my news is true;
'Tis duty brings me here: your wants I've heard,
'And can relieve: yet be the dead rever'd.
'Here, in this Purse, (what should have cheer'd a Wife,)
'Lies, half the savings of your Uncle's life!
'I know your history, and your wishes know;
'And love to see the seeds of Virtue grow.
'I've a spare Shed that fronts the public road:
'Make that your Shop; I'll make it your abode.
'Thus much from me,--the rest is but your due.'
That instant twenty pieces sprung to view.
Goody, her dim eyes wiping, rais'd her brow,
And saw the young pair look they knew not how;
Perils and Power while humble minds forego,
Who gives them half a Kingdom gives them woe;
Comforts may be procur'd and want defied,
Heav'ns! with how small a Sum, when right applied!

_How little of outward Good suffices for Happiness._

Give Love and honest Industry their way,
Clear but the Sun-rise of Life's little day,
Those we term poor shall oft that wealth obtain,
For which th' ambitious sigh, but sigh in vain:
Wealth that still brightens, as its stores increase;
The calm of Conscience, and the reign of Peace.
Walter's enamour'd Soul, from news like this,
Now felt the dawnings of his future bliss;
E'en as the Red-breast shelt'ring in a bower,
Mourns the short darkness of a passing Shower,
Then, while the azure sky extends around,
Darts on a worm that breaks the moisten'd ground,
And mounts the dripping fence, with joy elate,
And shares the prize triumphant with his mate;
So did the Youth;--the treasure straight became
An humble servant to Love's sacred flame;
Glorious subjection!--Thus his silence broke:
Joy gave him words; still quick'ning as he spoke.

_Joy above Wealth_.

'Want was my dread, my wishes were but few;
Others might doubt, but JANE those wishes knew:
This Gold may rid my heart of pains and sighs;
But her true love is still my greatest prize,
Long as I live, when this bright day comes round,
Beneath my Roof your noble deeds shall sound;
But, first, to make my gratitude appear,
I'll shoe your Honour's Horses for a Year;
If clouds should threaten when your Corn is down,
I'll lend a hand, and summon half the town;
If good betide, I'll sound it in my songs,
And be the first avenger of your wrongs:
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,
Let's drink eternal friendship from this Horn.
How much our present joy to you we owe,
Soon our three Bells shall let the Neighbours know;

_Grateful frankness_.

'The sound shall raise e'en stooping Age awhile,
'And every Maid shall meet you with a smile;
'Long may you _live_'--the wish like lightning flew;
By each repeated as the 'Squire withdrew.
'Long may _you_ live,' his feeling heart rejoin'd;
Leaving well-pleas'd such happy Souls behind.
Hope promis'd fair to cheer them to the end;
With Love their guide, and Goody for their friend.




THE MILLER'S MAID.

A Tale.

Near the high road upon a winding stream
An honest Miller rose to Wealth and Fame:
The noblest Virtues cheer'd his lengthen'd days,
And all the Country echo'd with his praise:
His Wife, the Doctress of the neighb'ring Poor,



[Footnote: This village and the poor of this neighbourhood know what it is to have possest such a blessing, and feel at this moment what it is to lose it by death. C.L.
_Troston_, 13th of September, 1801.]

Drew constant pray'rs and blessings round his door.

_The Tempest_.

One Summer's night, (the hour of rest was come)
Darkness unusual overspread their home;
A chilling blast was felt; the foremost cloud
Sprinkl'd the bubbling Pool; and thunder loud,
Though distant yet, menac'd the country round,
And fill'd the Heavens with its solemn sound.
Who can retire to rest when tempests lour?
Nor wait the issue of the coming hour?
Meekly resign'd she sat, in anxious pain;
He fill'd his pipe, and listen'd to the rain
That batter'd furiously their strong abode,
Roar'd in the Damm, and lash'd the pebbled road:
When, mingling with the storm, confus'd and wild,
They heard, or thought they heard, a screaming _Child_:
The voice approach'd; and midst the thunder's roar,
Now loudly begg'd for Mercy at the door.

MERCY was _there_: the Miller heard the call;
His door he open'd; when a sudden squall

_The Young Stranger_.

Drove in a wretched Girl; who weeping stood,
Whilst the cold rain dripp'd from her in a flood.
With kind officiousness the tender Dame
Rous'd up the dying embers to a flame;
Dry cloaths procur'd, and cheer'd her shiv'ring guest,
And sooth'd the sorrows of her infant breast.
But as she stript her shoulders, lily-white,
What marks of cruel usage shock'd their sight!
Weals, and blue wounds, most piteous to behold
Upon a Child yet scarcely Ten years old.
The _Miller_ felt his indignation rise,
Yet, as the weary stranger clos'd her eyes,
And seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years,
'Sleep, Child,' he said, 'and wipe away your tears.'
They watch'd her slumbers till the storm was done;
When thus the generous Man again begun:
'See, fluttering sighs that rise against her will,
And agitating dreams disturb her still!

_The Simple Story_.

'Dame, we should know before we go to rest,
'Whence comes this Girl, and how she came distrest.
'Wake her, and ask; for she is sorely bruis'd:
'I long to know by whom she's thus misus'd.

'Child, what's your name? how came you in the storm?
'Have you no home to keep you dry and warm?
'Who gave you all those wounds your shoulders show?
'Where are your Parents? Whither would you go?

The Stranger bursting into tears, look'd pale,
And this the purport of her artless tale.
'I have no Parents; and no friends beside:
'I well remember when my Mother died:
'My Brother cried; and so did I that day:
'We had no Father;--he was gone away;
'That night we left our home new cloaths to wear:
'The _Work-house_ found them; we were carried there.
'We lov'd each other dearly; when we met
'We always shar'd what trifles we could get.

_Rustic Hospitality and Protection of the friendless_.

But _George_ was older by a year than me:--
He parted from me and was sent to Sea.
"Good-bye, dear Phoebe," the poor fellow said!
Perhaps he'll come again; perhaps he's dead.
When I grew strong enough I went to place,
My Mistress had a sour ill-natured face;
And though I've been so often beat and chid,
I strove to please her, Sir: indeed, I did.
Weary and spiritless to bed I crept,
And always cried at night before I slept.
This Morning I offended; and I bore
A cruel beating, worse than all before.
Unknown to all the House I ran away;
And thus far travell'd through the sultry day;
And, O don't send me back! I dare not go.'--
'I send you back!' the Miller cried, 'no, no.'
Th' appeals of Wretchedness had weight with him,
And Sympathy would warm him every limb;

_The Child becomes one of the Family_.

He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun,
'Well done, my little Wench; 'twas nobly done!'
Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire,
And feelings such as Pity can inspire,
'My house has childless been this many a year;
While you deserve it you shall tarry here.'
The Orphan mark'd the ardor of his eye,
Blest his kind words, and thank'd him with a sigh.

Thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd;
Thus were her spirits rais'd, her bruises heal'd:
Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid,
Thus little PHOEBE was the Miller's Maid.
Grateful they found her; patient of controul:
A most bewitching gentleness of soul
Made pleasure of what work she had to do:
She grew in stature, and in beauty too.

Five years she pass'd in this delightful home;
Five happy years: but, when the sixth was come,

_The New Comer_.

The _Miller_ from a Market Town hard by,
Brought home a sturdy Youth his strength to try,
To raise the sluice-gates early every morn,
To heave his powder'd sacks and grind his corn:
And meeting _Phoebe_, whom he lov'd so dear,
'I've brought you home a Husband, Girl?--D'ye hear?
He begg'd for work; his money seem'd but scant:
Those that will work 'tis pity they should want.
So use him well, and we shall shortly see
Whether he merits what I've done, like thee.'

Now throbb'd her heart,--a new sensation
Whene'er the comely Stranger was in right:
For he at once assiduously strove.
To please so sweet a Maid, and win her love.
At every corner stopp'd her in her way;
And saw fresh beauties opening ev'ry day;
He took delight in tracing in her face
The mantling blush, and every nameless grace,

[Footnote: A Maxim which all ought to remember. C.L.]

_First Impressions_.

That Sensibility would bring to view,
When Love he mention'd;---Love, and Honour true,
But _Phoebe_ still was shy; and wish'd to know
More of the honest Youth, whose manly