Bloomfield's reading was not very extensive nor diversified during these early years of his London life, yet it was sufficient to whet his appetite for mental improvement, and give him no small degree of literary taste and skill. The brothers took, in sixpenny numbers, such works as a "History of England," "The British Traveller," and a "Treatise on Geography." These were read aloud to the little company of busy listeners, several hours of the day being occupied with the task. His first poetic impulse was awakened by the perusal of the _London Magazine_, which found its way at this time into the cobblers' garret. Robert always read it with zest, carefully scanning the reviews of books, and never failing to look into the "Poets' Corner." One day he surprised his brother by repeating a song which he had composed after the manner of Burns and so many other graceful songsters, "to an old tune." George was as much delighted as surprised at his young brother's smooth and easy verses, and encouraged him to try the experiment of sending them to the editor. This he did with many fears and hopes, and nervously awaited the issue of the next number. To his intense delight, and the pardonable pride of the whole company, the verses appeared in print. As a specimen of his first literary attempt, every youth will deem them worth recording, and will read them with pleasure. They bear the modest title "A Village Girl," and are signed with the letters R. B. "Hail May! lovely May! how replenished my pails, The young dawn o'erspreads the broad east streaked with gold! My glad heart beats time to the laugh of the vales, And Colin's voice rings through the wood from the fold, The wood to the mountain submissively bends, Whose blue misty summit first glows with the sun; See! thence a gay train by the wild rill descends To join the mixed sports:--Hark! the tumult's begun. Be cloudless, ye skies! and be Colin but there; Not dew-spangled bents on the wide level dale, Nor morning's first smile can more lovely appear, Than his looks,--since my wishes I cannot conceal. Swift down the mad dance, whilst blest health prompts to move, We'll count joys to come, and exchange vows of truth; And haply, when age cools the transports of love, Decry, like good folks, the vain follies of youth."