Who could resist the call?--that, Giles had done, Nor heard the Birds, nor seen the rising Sun; Had not Benevolence, with cheering ray, And Greatness stoop'd, indulgent to display Praise which does surely not to Giles belong, But to the objects that inspir'd his song. Immediate pleasure from those praises flow'd: Remoter bliss within his bosom glow'd! Now tasted all:--for I have heard and seen The long-remember'd voice, the church, the green;-- And oft by Friendship's gentle hand been led Where many an hospitable board was spread. These would I name,... but each, and all can feel What the full heart would willingly reveal: Nor needs be told; that at each season's birth, Still the enamell'd, or the scorching Earth Gave, as each morn or weary night would come, Ideal sweetness to my distant home:-- Ideal now no more;--for, to my view Spring's promise rose, how admirably true!! The early chorus of the cheerful Grove, Gave point to Gratitude; and fire to Love. O Memory! shield me from the World's poor strife; And give those scenes thine everlasting life! ROB. BLOOMFIELD. LONDON, MAY 30, 1800. SPRING. ARGUMENT. _Invocation, &c. Seed time. Harrowing. Morning walks. Milking. The Dairy. Suffolk Cheese. Spring coming forth. Sheep fond of changing. Lambs at play. The Butcher, &c._ [Illustration] SPRING I. O come, blest Spirit! whatsoe'er thou art, Thou rushing warmth that hover'st round my heart, Sweet inmate, hail! thou source of sterling joy, That poverty itself cannot destroy, Be thou my Muse; and faithful still to me, Retrace the paths of wild obscurity. No deeds of arms my humble lines rehearse, No _Alpine_ wonders thunder through my verse, The roaring cataract, the snow-topt hill, Inspiring awe, till breath itself stands still: Nature's sublimer scenes ne'er charm'd mine eyes, Nor Science led me through the boundless skies; From meaner objects far my raptures flow: O point these raptures! bid my bosom glow! And lead my soul to ecstasies of praise For all the blessings of my infant days! Bear me through regions where gay Fancy dwells; But mould to Truth's fair form what Memory tells. Live, trifling incidents, and grace my song, That to the humblest menial belong: To him whose drudgery unheeded goes, His joys unreckon'd as his cares or woes; Though joys and cares in every path are sown, And youthful minds have feelings of their own, Quick springing sorrows, transient as the dew, Delights from trifles, trifles ever, new. 'Twas thus with GILES: meek, fatherless, and poor: Labour his portion, but he felt no more; No stripes, no tyranny his steps pursu'd; His life was constant, cheerful, servitude: Strange to the world, he wore a bashful look, The fields his study, Nature was his book; And, as revolving SEASONS chang'd the scene From heat to cold, tempestuous to serene, Though every change still varied his employ, Yet each new duty brought its share of joy.