 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
“Rouse from thy slumber, Pleasure calls, arise,
Quit thy half-rural bower, a while despise
The thraldom that consumes thee. We who dwell
Far from thy land of smoke advise thee well.
Here Nature's bounteous hand around shall fling
Scenes that thy Muse hath never dared to sing.
When sickness weigh'd thee down, and strength declined;
When dread eternity absorb'd thy mind,
Flow'd the predicting verse, by gloom o'erspread,
That ‘Cambrian mountains’ thou shouldst never tread,
That ‘time-woru cliff and classic stream to see,’
Was wealth's prerogative, despair for thee.
Come to the proof; with us the breeze inhale,
Renounce despair, and come to Severn's vale;
And where the Cotswold Hills are stretch'd along,
Seek our green dell, as yet unknown to song:
Start hence with us, and trace, with raptured eye,
The wild meanderings of the beauteous Wye;
Thy ten days leisure ten days joy shall prove,
And rock and stream breathe amity and love.”
Quit thy half-rural bower, a while despise
The thraldom that consumes thee. We who dwell
Far from thy land of smoke advise thee well.
Here Nature's bounteous hand around shall fling
Scenes that thy Muse hath never dared to sing.
2
When dread eternity absorb'd thy mind,
Flow'd the predicting verse, by gloom o'erspread,
That ‘Cambrian mountains’ thou shouldst never tread,
That ‘time-woru cliff and classic stream to see,’
Was wealth's prerogative, despair for thee.
Come to the proof; with us the breeze inhale,
Renounce despair, and come to Severn's vale;
And where the Cotswold Hills are stretch'd along,
Seek our green dell, as yet unknown to song:
Start hence with us, and trace, with raptured eye,
The wild meanderings of the beauteous Wye;
Thy ten days leisure ten days joy shall prove,
And rock and stream breathe amity and love.”
Such was the call; with instant ardour hail'd,
The siren Pleasure caroll'd and prevail'd;
Soon the deep dell appear'd, and the clear brow
Of Uley Bury smiled o'er all below,
O'er mansion, flock, and circling woods that hung
Round the sweet pastures where the sky-lark sung.
O for the fancy, vigorous and sublime,
Chaste as the theme, to triumph over time!
Bright as the rising day, and firm as truth,
To speak new transports to the lowland youth,
That bosoms still might throb, and still adore,
When his who strives to charm them beats no more!
The siren Pleasure caroll'd and prevail'd;
3
Of Uley Bury smiled o'er all below,
O'er mansion, flock, and circling woods that hung
Round the sweet pastures where the sky-lark sung.
O for the fancy, vigorous and sublime,
Chaste as the theme, to triumph over time!
Bright as the rising day, and firm as truth,
To speak new transports to the lowland youth,
That bosoms still might throb, and still adore,
When his who strives to charm them beats no more!
4
One August morn, with spirits high,
Sound health, bright hopes, and cloudless sky,
A cheerful group their farewell bade
To Dursley tower, to Uley's shade;
And where bold Stinchcombe's greenwood side
Heaves in the van of highland pride,
Scour'd the broad vale of Severn; where
The foes of verse shall never dare
Genius to scorn, or bound its power,
There blood-stain'd Berkeley's turrets low'r,
A name that cannot pass away,
Till time forgets “the Bard” of Gray.
Sound health, bright hopes, and cloudless sky,
A cheerful group their farewell bade
To Dursley tower, to Uley's shade;
And where bold Stinchcombe's greenwood side
Heaves in the van of highland pride,
Scour'd the broad vale of Severn; where
The foes of verse shall never dare
Genius to scorn, or bound its power,
There blood-stain'd Berkeley's turrets low'r,
A name that cannot pass away,
Till time forgets “the Bard” of Gray.
Quitting fair Glo'ster's northern road,
To gain the pass of Framilode,
Before us Dean's black forest spread,
And May Hill, with his tufted head,
Beyond the ebbing tide appear'd;
And Cambria's distant mountains rear'd
Their dark blue summits far away;
And Severn, 'midst the burning day,
Curved his bright line, and bore along
The mingled Avon, pride of song.
To gain the pass of Framilode,
Before us Dean's black forest spread,
And May Hill, with his tufted head,
Beyond the ebbing tide appear'd;
And Cambria's distant mountains rear'd
5
And Severn, 'midst the burning day,
Curved his bright line, and bore along
The mingled Avon, pride of song.
The trembling steeds soon ferried o'er,
Neigh'd loud upon the forest shore;
Domains that once, at early morn,
Rang to the hunter's bugle horn,
When barons proud would bound away;
And even kings would hail the day,
When crested chiefs their bright arm'd train
Of javelin'd horsemen roused amain,
And chasing wide the wolf or boar,
Bade the deep woodland valleys roar.
But we no dang'rous chase pursued;
Sound wheels and hoofs their tasks renew'd;
Behind roll'd Severn, gleaming far,
Around us roar'd no sylvan war,
'Mid depths of shade, gay sunbeams broke
Through noble Flaxley's bow'rs of oak;
And many a cottage, trim and gay,
Whisper'd delight through all the way;
On hills exposed, in dells unseen,
To patriarchal Mitchel Dean.
Rose-cheek'd Pomona here was queen,
Though Ceres edged her fields between,
And on each hill-top, mounted high,
Her sickle waved in ecstasy;
Till, Ross, thy charms all hearts confess'd,
Thy peaceful walks, thy hours of rest
And contemplation. Here the mind,
(Its usual luggage left behind,)
Feels all its dormant fires revive,
And sees “the Man of Ross” alive;
And hears the Twick'nham Bard again
To Kyrle's high virtues lift his strain;
Whose own hand clothed this far-famed hill
With rev'rend elms, that shade us still;
Whose mem'ry shall survive the day
When elms and empires feel decay.
Kyrle die, by Bard ennobled? Never:
The Man of Ross shall live for ever;
And long that spire shall time defy,
To grace the flow'ry-margin'd Wye,
Scene of the morrow's joy, that prest
Its unseen beauties on our rest
In dreams; but who of dreams would tell,
Where truth sustains the song so well ?
Neigh'd loud upon the forest shore;
Domains that once, at early morn,
Rang to the hunter's bugle horn,
When barons proud would bound away;
And even kings would hail the day,
When crested chiefs their bright arm'd train
Of javelin'd horsemen roused amain,
And chasing wide the wolf or boar,
Bade the deep woodland valleys roar.
But we no dang'rous chase pursued;
Sound wheels and hoofs their tasks renew'd;
Behind roll'd Severn, gleaming far,
Around us roar'd no sylvan war,
6
Through noble Flaxley's bow'rs of oak;
And many a cottage, trim and gay,
Whisper'd delight through all the way;
On hills exposed, in dells unseen,
To patriarchal Mitchel Dean.
Rose-cheek'd Pomona here was queen,
Though Ceres edged her fields between,
And on each hill-top, mounted high,
Her sickle waved in ecstasy;
Till, Ross, thy charms all hearts confess'd,
Thy peaceful walks, thy hours of rest
And contemplation. Here the mind,
(Its usual luggage left behind,)
Feels all its dormant fires revive,
And sees “the Man of Ross” alive;
And hears the Twick'nham Bard again
To Kyrle's high virtues lift his strain;
7
With rev'rend elms, that shade us still;
Whose mem'ry shall survive the day
When elms and empires feel decay.
Kyrle die, by Bard ennobled? Never:
The Man of Ross shall live for ever;
And long that spire shall time defy,
To grace the flow'ry-margin'd Wye,
Scene of the morrow's joy, that prest
Its unseen beauties on our rest
In dreams; but who of dreams would tell,
Where truth sustains the song so well ?
The morrow came, and Beauty's eye
Ne'er beam'd upon a lovelier sky;
Imagination instant brought,
And dash'd, amidst the train of thought,
Tints of the bow. The boatman stript;
Glee at the helm exulting tript,
And waved her flower-encircled wand,
“Away, away, to Fairy Land.”
Light dipt the oars; but who can name
The various objects dear to fame,
That changing, doubling, wild, and strong,
Demand the noblest powers of song?
Then, O forgive the vagrant Muse,
Ye who the sweets of Nature choose;
And thou, whom destiny hath tied
To this romantic river's side,
Down gazing from each close retreat,
On boats that glide beneath thy feet,
Forgive the stranger's meagre line,
That seems to slight that spot of thine;
For he, alas! could only glean
The changeful outlines of the scene;
A momentary bliss; and here
Links memory's power with rapture's tear.
Ne'er beam'd upon a lovelier sky;
Imagination instant brought,
And dash'd, amidst the train of thought,
8
Glee at the helm exulting tript,
And waved her flower-encircled wand,
“Away, away, to Fairy Land.”
Light dipt the oars; but who can name
The various objects dear to fame,
That changing, doubling, wild, and strong,
Demand the noblest powers of song?
Then, O forgive the vagrant Muse,
Ye who the sweets of Nature choose;
And thou, whom destiny hath tied
To this romantic river's side,
Down gazing from each close retreat,
On boats that glide beneath thy feet,
Forgive the stranger's meagre line,
That seems to slight that spot of thine;
For he, alas! could only glean
The changeful outlines of the scene;
9
Links memory's power with rapture's tear.
Bury, or Burg, the Saxon name for a hill, particularly for one wholly or partially formed by art. Uley Bury, from the singular valley below, embosoming Uley and Oulpen, is an eminence of singular beauty, crowned by intrenchments; though in itself but a kind of termination of the Cotswold Hills, in which character Stinchcombe takes the lead; and both command a vast prospect over the Severn and the mountains of South Wales.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |