Somewhat earlier in the period is another minor poet who would be today practically unknown had not Southey preserved his work. This is Joseph Relph, the son of a Cumberland statesman. He was born in Shergham, where he spent most of his unhappy life. His “Cumbrian Pastorals” were, Southey says, transcripts from real life. They are among the very earliest attempts to represent the Cumberland dialect, and they are a close record of Cumberland superstitions and games and customs. The poems show an original study of the scenery about Shergham, as in the following lines: A finer hay-day was never seen, The greenish sops already luik less green * * * * * And see how finely striped the fields appear, Striped like the gown ’at I on Sundays wear. White show the rye, the big of blaker hue; The bluimen pezz greenment wi’ reed and blue. Blair’s one important poem is “The Grave” (1743). Its aim is a moral one, and it makes but slight use of the outer world. There is, however, one interesting realistic description of a row of ragged elms Long lash’d by the rude winds. Some rift half down Their branchless trunks; others so thin atop, That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree. These elms, the cheerless unsocial yew, the wan moon, the howling wind, the screech owl, the moss-grown stones skirted with nettles, are descriptive details that serve very well to add the desired “supernumerary horror” to the scene. “The Grave” is one of the earliest poems to give to melancholy reflections on man’s mortality the Nature setting that was later recognized as the conventionally appropriate one. William Thompson is best known by his “Epithalamium” (1736), “Sickness” (1745) and especially his “Hymn to May,” written “not long after.” His poems were published in a volume in 1757. His “Milkmaid” is a stilted, artificial pastoral filled in with homely details. Colin begs politely and on his knees that Lucy will smile upon him; So may thy cows forever crown With floods of milk thy brimming pail; So may thy cheeze all cheeze surpass, So may thy butter never fail. Lucy, of course, sighed and blushed a sweet consent. This pastoral, together with his admiration of Pope’s Alexis, who was so Gently rural! without coarseness plain; How simple in his elegance of grief! A shepherd but no clown, would hardly lead one to suspect much satisfactory study of Nature in Thompson’s poetry. But there is apparent in the “Hymn” and even in “Sickness,” through all the florid, exuberant diction and obscure forms of expression, a genuine delight in the beauty and freshness of the outer world. He was a great admirer of Thomson, who as Nature’s bard the seasons on his page Stole from the year’s rich hand,[386]