 | The remains of Robert Bloomfield (1824) |  |
79
A NEIGHBOURLY RESOLUTION.
With scythe, fresh sharpen'd, by his side,
To bring the ripen'd barley down,
One morning, when the dew was dried,
Thus musing with himself, John Brown
Stood, where of late
His little gate
Was cover'd by an elm's broad shade:—
Ah! there thou liest, wide sheltering tree,
Beneath whose boughs, in youthful glee,
My first love-vow was made.
To bring the ripen'd barley down,
One morning, when the dew was dried,
Thus musing with himself, John Brown
Stood, where of late
His little gate
Was cover'd by an elm's broad shade:—
Ah! there thou liest, wide sheltering tree,
Beneath whose boughs, in youthful glee,
My first love-vow was made.
Thou hast survived my wife, 'tis true,
Thy leaves have sigh'd to me, alone;
Have sigh'd in autumn's yellow hue—
I've felt thy lessons, every one.
Of thee bereft,
There may be left,
(Though 'twas no friend that cut thee down)
There may be left in store, I say,
Some joys—for Goody Gascoin may
Be kind to neighbour Brown.
Thy leaves have sigh'd to me, alone;
Have sigh'd in autumn's yellow hue—
I've felt thy lessons, every one.
Of thee bereft,
There may be left,
(Though 'twas no friend that cut thee down)
There may be left in store, I say,
Some joys—for Goody Gascoin may
Be kind to neighbour Brown.
80
I've lived alone, she's done the same,
Through summer's heat and winter's cold;
I trust we still might feel love's flame,
Though girls and boys may call us old:
O could we be
Embower'd by thee!
Vain wish! my poor old elm is down:—
May shadeless labour and sour ale,
Far from this stream, and this sweet vale,
Plague him that robb'd John Brown.
Through summer's heat and winter's cold;
I trust we still might feel love's flame,
Though girls and boys may call us old:
O could we be
Embower'd by thee!
Vain wish! my poor old elm is down:—
May shadeless labour and sour ale,
Far from this stream, and this sweet vale,
Plague him that robb'd John Brown.
But though, 'midst clust'ring leaves, no more
The robin gives his morning trill;
Winter may bring him to my door,
And Goody Gascoin,—if she will.
I'll know her mind;
If so inclined,
'Tis death alone shall make us part:
And though his cot's sweet shade is down,
This charm she'll find in neighbour Brown,
Gay cheerfulness of heart.
The robin gives his morning trill;
Winter may bring him to my door,
And Goody Gascoin,—if she will.
I'll know her mind;
If so inclined,
'Tis death alone shall make us part:
And though his cot's sweet shade is down,
This charm she'll find in neighbour Brown,
Gay cheerfulness of heart.
| The remains of Robert Bloomfield (1824) | |