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Though o'er their con fines beams ce.
Testial light, A SKETCH OF SHAKSPEARE.
The paths are shrouded in eternal
night. PRIDE of his own, and wonder of our
age, Who first created, and yet rules the short will appear the gloomiest, rudest stage;
road, Bold to design, all powerful to express That leads your troubles to that calm Shakspeare each-passion drew in eve
abode. ry dress;
When there arriv'd, O fail not to Great without rule, and imitating none, impart Rich without borrowing, nature was The grateful tidings to my anxious his own.
heart, That, after all your pains and miseries
True, pure felicity is yours at last.
No; from the far, far country where GOOD youth, farewell, your destin's Nothing of me, alas! thou e’er canst way parsue,
know, My faith, you know is to another due; Farewell for ever! landed that Your woes from me no remedy can shore, proye,
None ever yet were seen or heard of Pity I may, but dare not, must not
love. Say to what country do your footsteps bend,
THE WISH. That all my wishes may their course attend?
GRANT me, kind Heaven! to call HE.
A little cottage, overgrown Knowest thou a land, an ever-blooming With honeysuckle and with rose; shore,
In whose small garden, duly blows Where hapless lovers meet to part no Carnation, lilies, jasmine spreading, more,
And all the juicy fruits that redder: Where weary labour rests at last from A cottage near a lane, whose banks, toil,
Steep and romantic, equal ranks ; And the poor exile finds his native of high, umbrageous trees embower,
(Sweet shelter from a transientshower :) Where for the thirsty crystal fountains Thick sown with violets, and made flow,
Of nightingales the leafy shade; And fruits of Eden for the hungry Where I may walk in summer night grow;
Through breath of flowers, and soft Where grief and jealousy and discord moonlight ! cease,
Let a clear spring refreshing run, And all is love and liberty and peace.
Far from the hot glance of the sun,
Beside my straw-roofed cot, whose SHE.
willows I know it not: if such a land there be, Deep in some distant dell, retire
May thickly sweep its mimic billows, O thither hasten, it is worthy thee. In that fair land, thy miseriės left from which the silver bells may oft
The peaceful hamlet's ivied spire, behind, A port of refuge may thy virtues find. Ring round their changes, sweet and
O'er some wild common's calm expanse HE.
Where I might stray in musing trance. But dark and cold and silent is the Then add to this a plenteous store way,
Of ancient and of modern lore; To those bright realms of everlasting A chosen friend with whom to talk, day:
Or read, or gather flowers, or walk;
Whose kind, approving looks might be Why so good damer' the sage replied, My heaviest toil's o'erpaying fee, “Because you'd love me then,” she To whom I dedicate my life,
cried. Either as sister, friend, or wife: Why that might be,' he straight O add but these, and thou canst grant, rejoin'd, Nought else that I should wish or But 't would depend upon the kind want.
An Almanack, for instance, dear,
"To have a new one every year.' HOME Oh! 'tis sweet to retire from the world
and its wiles, And renounce all life's idle induce FROM THE ITALIAN OF PANANTI.
ments to roam ; To fly from its tumults, to court not its “Pentiti a un dissoluto moribondo."
smiles, And centre our joys in the circle at
a friar said
“Repent, my son, home.
To the sick patient on his bed.
I saw the demon on the watch
At the stairs' foot thy soul to catch." To trust but to those who we know are
« What was he like?” the sick man sincere,
cried : And who in our paths never scatter'd a thorn;
“Why like an ass,” the monk replied.
“An ass!" the sick man mutter'd, To live but for those who deserve to
« Pshaw! be dear,
'Twas And laugh this vain world and its
your own shadow that you saw." vain vot'ries to scorn. Not forced to applaud what our hearts
To the Editor of the Oxford disapprove,
Entertaining Miscellany. Nor venture in whispers alone to
condemn; But to place all our hopes on the few that we love,
SIR, And feel we are safe in depending
Having read your Paper on them.
respecting the publishing of the Ox
ford Entertaining Miscellany, I beg to Not idly to linger, till Time shall pro- acquaint you that I am highly pleased claim,
with your laudable design, and that That the search after pleasure must I think the Work admirably adapted to shortly be o'er ;
afford entertainment and instruction to And nothing is left but a weak worn- its readers. If, Mr. Editor, the Subout frame,
scribers to your Publication will take And regret for the days which do the trouble to transmit to you any pow'r can restore.
beautiful quotation they may happen
to meet with in the course of their But ere the gay summer of youth readipg, or a brilliant thought of their shall be fled,
own, the Oxford Entertaining MiscelTo find out the end of existence lany will form an highly pleasing combelow;
panion at the breakfast table for its And while we the sweet tears of gra- wit, and furnish subjects for considertitude shed,
ation during more deliberate hours. Ackuowledge this world hath no Let this therefore serve as a respectmore to bestow.
ful invitation to the Oxonians to con. tribute by their abilities and accom
plishments to the promotion of your Epigrams.
praise-worthy views. (From the New Monthly Magazine.)
I am, Mr. Editor,
Your obedt. Servant, A poring wight, who, being wed,
Vol. I. No. 1, June 9, 1824.
[Printed and Published by F, Trash, Oxford.
volumes and attending the lectures BLOOMFIELD THE POET.
of the late Rev. Mr. Fawcett, of The following brief sketch may the Old Jewry, he imbibed a thirst not be unacceptable to many of for literature, and obtained a our readers unacquainted with the knowledge of geography and hishistory of this Poet of Nature; tory; paid some attention to music and others to whom his published and drawing, to the latter of wbich memoirs have been highly gratify-lhe afterwards devoted consider, ing, will find some difference in
able attention. Here the first exregard to dates, which have been ertions of his muse were registerobtained from indisputable au- ed in the poet's corner of a Mornthority.
ing Paper ; but they were not Robert Bloomfield was born in written exactly at the early age the village of Honington, near Eu- which Mr. George Bloomfield has ston, Suffolk, December 3, 1766. assigned in his letter to Mr. Capel He was tủe son of a tailor, whose Lofft. He was in his 20th year death, by the small pox ere our when they appeared, though prepoet attained the age of twelve viously he had made some slight months, left his wife with six child attempts to array his ideas in a dren ypprovided for, and the num- political garb. He continued to ber was augmented by the issue exercise the trade of a shoemaker, of a second marriage. At the age in which he met with numerous of eleyen he was placed in the obstacles from not having been house of her relative, Mr. Austin, regularly apprenticed, when chance at an adjoining village, called threw in his way “Paradise Lost," Stapleton, from whence he was and «« Thomson's Seasons.” From removed to London in June, 1781, the last be caught the idea of his to the care of his brother, John “ Farmer's Boy,” and conceived Bloomfield, a shoemaker, who un- and wrote the chief part of that dertook his maintenance and in- beautiful and celebrated poem, struction in his trade, while Na- while working amid the din of thaniel, another brother, who ex- six or seven men engaged in a ercised the calling of a tailor, similar avocation to his own. undertook to provide him with From the success of the “ Farclothes.
mer's Boy,” he was induced to His brother resided at No. 7, attempt other works, and bis Pitcher's Court, Coleman-street, “Rural Tales,” “Wild Flowers,” and worked with four other shoe- and subsequent works, added to makers in a garret. The situa- his domestic comforts (occasiontion of Robert was for some time ally afflicted with illness and the little superior to that of an errand cares of family,) and increased hoy. By the use of a few odd his literary fame. He quitted the
drudgery of trade, and resided for of her husband, a firm believer in some time in the City Road, where the impositions of Joanna Southhe manufactured and sold Eolian cote, but the unfortunate delusion barps. Among his numerous ad- has happily subsided. mirers and patrons was the Duke Shefford is a small, neat market of Grafton, who procured him a town, forty-one miles distant from situation" connected with the re- London, situated on the river Ivel, ceipt of money for stamps on Bedfordshire. The residence is wills, and the legacy duty. This a neat red-brick fronted house, -being utterly remote to his dispo- containing six rooms, and a small sition, he soon relinquished, and garden ; the surrounding scenery retired to Shefford, where he pro- is well adapted to an admirer of duced his “May Day with the rural life. Bloomfield's residence Muses," “ Hazlewood Hall," and here was at the suggestiou of a other works; but his health, which friend. He appears to have been had been gradually declining, pro- much esteemed by the females of duced a painful illness, of which the place, who quote frequently he'died, in August, 1823, in em- his “ Richard and Kate,". 66 Milbarrassed circumstances, and was ler's Maid,” “Broken Crutch,” buried in the church-yard of and other productions; but the Campton, one mile distant from male residents, who are not much his house, there being no burial prone to poetry, while they ad'ground in Shefford, without a stone mit and commend his placid and 'to mark the spot of his remains, unassuming deportment, seem to leaving four children, who are lament his want of success in forgrown up, and fortunately possess mer pursuits, and imply in the the means of providing for them- language of the songselves.
“ That learning is not half so good
as leather.” His widow having administered to his effects, became pressed for the payment of his debts, and a STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. compromise was entered into connected with certain copywrights How solemnly, how slowly tolls
The knell of death, -its sounds of and arrangements with booksel
gloom 'lers, from which the creditors Too plainly tells us that it rolls,
An awful passport to the tomb. have received a dividend of seven
Mourn, mourn, ye Muses ! once again, shillings and sixpence in the For death is heralding away pound, as a full acquittal of all Anocher of your tuneful train,
To realms of bliss and endless day. demands. She is about fifty-five
There, there, to strike his hallowed years
lyre, decent appearance, and was for With all the countless sons of song;
alas! po more must hear - some time previous to the death
'The melting music of his tongue.
All shall lament thec, Nature's bard- But, now, I seek for other joys;
All who can rural themes enjoy; To think, would drive my soul to And testify their fond regard,
madness : In weeping with the “Farmer's In thoughtless throngs, and empty Boy."
1 conquer half my bosom's sadness." The rustic and untutor'd “Giles," Yet e’en in these, a thought will steal,, Nurtur'd and train'd in Nature's
In spite of every vain endeavour; schools,
And fiends might pity what I feel, Whose face, adorned with honest To know, that thou art lost for ever."
smiles, Laughs at and scorns improvement's
On arriving at the age of manrules,
hood, Lord Byron took a long, Shall check his glee, as in the vale He reaps creation's golden store,
leave of his native country, in the. And scarce believe the doleful tale view of making a tour in foreign His darling minstrel is no more.
lands, but as the ordinary course, The tear shall start in “Walter's of travelling through Europe, was
eye, And June, alas! shall vainly weep! much impeded by the war which, Phæbe and George no more be gay, then prevailed between England Ev'n aged Richard's mirth shall sleep.
and France, he embarked at Fal
mouth for Lisbon. In 1809, he For he is gone who call’d them forth, His name is all now we possess ;
passed through Portugal and Death came and claim'd him of our Spain, touched at Malta and Sicily,
earth, With all his stern relentlessness. and proceeded to the Morea and Time show'd his glass—the sands run
Constantinople. While the Saldown,
sette, in which Lord Byron was a Spoke in a language far too plain; He pointed to “its conic crown,"
passenger to Constantinople, lay But would not“ turn it up again.” in the Dardanelles, a discourse Let Nature then descend in showers, arose among some of the Officers
To water what she could not save, respecting the practicability of And nourish wild and rural flowers, To decorate her Poet's grave.
swimming across the Hellespont. -Lord Byron and Lieut. Eken
head agreed to make the trial; LORD BYRON.
they accordingly attempted this (Continued from page 8.)
enterprise on the 3d of May, 1810. Yet all this giddy waste of years, The following is the account given This tiresome round of palling of it by his Lordship :-" The
pleasures; >> These varied loves, these matron's whole distance from Abydos, the fears,
place from whence we started, to These thoughtless strains to passion's measures.
our landing at Sestos on the other If thou wert mine, had all been hush?d; side, including the length we were
This cheek now pale from early riot, With passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd, carried by the current, was com
But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. puted by those on board the frigate Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, For Nature seem'd to smile before at upwards of four English miles; thee;
though the actual breadth is barely And once my breast abhorr'd deceit, For then it beat but to adore thee. I one. The rapidity of the current