 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
85
DOLLY
“Ingenuous trust, and confidence of Love.”
I
The Bat began with giddy wingHis circuit round the Shed, the Tree;
And clouds of dancing Gnats to sing
A summer-night's serenity.
II
Darkness crept slowly o'er the East!Upon the Barn-roof watch'd the Cat;
Sweet breath'd the ruminating Beast
At rest where Dolly musing sat.
86
III
A simple Maid, who could employThe silent lapse of Evening mild,
And lov'd its solitary joy:
For Dolly was Reflection's child.
IV
He who had pledg'd his word to beHer life's dear guardian, far away,
The flow'r of Yeoman Cavalry,
Bestrode a Steed with trappings gay.
V
And thus from Memory's treasur'd sweets,And thus from Love's pure fount she drew
That peace, which busy care defeats,
And bids our pleasures bloom anew.
87
VI
Six weeks of absence have I borneSince Henry took his fond farewell:
The charms of that delightful morn
My tongue could thus for ever tell.
VII
He at my Window whistling loud,Arous'd my lightsome heart to go:
Day, conqu'ring, climb'd from cloud to cloud;
The fields all wore a purple glow.
VIII
We stroll'd the bordering flow'rs among:One hand the Bridle held behind;
The other round my waist was flung:
Sure never Youth spoke half so kind!
88
IX
The rising Lark I could but hear;And jocund seem'd the song to be:
But sweeter sounded in my ear,
“Will Dolly still be true to me!”
X
From the rude Dock my skirt had sweptA fringe of clinging burs so green;
Like them our hearts still closer crept,
And hook'd a thousand holds unseen.
XI
High o'er the road each branching boughIts globes of silent dew had shed;
And on the pure-wash'd sand below
The dimpling drops around had spread.
89
XII
The sweet-brier op'd its pink-ey'd rose,And gave its fragrance to the gale;
Though modest flow'rs may sweets disclose,
More sweet was Henry's earnest tale.
XIII
He seem'd, methought, on that dear morn,To pour out all his heart to me;
As if, the separation borne,
The coming hours would joyless be.
XIV
A bank rose high beside the way,And full against the morning Sun;
Of heav'nly blue the violets gay
His hand invited one by one.
90
XV
The posy with a smile he gave;I saw his meaning in his eyes:
The wither'd treasure still I have;
My bosom holds the fragrant prize.
XVI
With his last kiss he would have vow'd;But blessings crouding fore'd their way.
Then mounted he his Courser proud;
His time was gone, he could not stay.
XVII
Then first I felt the parting pang;—Sure the worst pang the Lover feels!
His Horse unruly from me sprang,
The pebbles flew beneath his heels;
91
XVIII
Then down the road his vigour tried,His rider gazing, gazing still;
“My dearest, I'll be true,” he cried:—
And, if he lives, I'm sure he will.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |