He said, and led her to the cottage door, Dispos'd the basket, comforted and kiss'd her. Then to the garden bow'r together both, Link'd arm in arm, proceeded. There they sat, And he his melancholy tale rehears'd, And she was all attention.

He began,

And told her of his youth and boyish days
Till manhood came, his aged parents died,
And he, a sighing lover, sought a wife.
Twice was he wedded, and his former love
Bore him a son, the cause of all his woe.

He train'd him, as he thought, to deeds of praise;
He taught him virtue, and he taught him truth,
And sent him early to a public school.
Here, as it seem'd, (but he had none to blame,)
Virtue forsook him, and habitual vice
Grew in her stead. He laugh'd at honesty,
Became a sceptic, and could raise a doubt
E'en of his father's truth. 'Twas idly done
To tell him of another world, for wits
Knew better; and the only good on earth
Was pleasure; not to follow that was sin.
Sure he that made us, made us to enjoy ;

6

And why,' said he, should my fond father prate Of virtue and religion? They afford

No joys, and would abridge the scanty few

Of nature. Nature be my deity,

Her let me worship, as herself enjoins,

At the full board of plenty.

Thoughtless boy!

So to a libertine he grew, a wit,

A man of honour; boastful empty names
That dignify the villain. Seldom seen,
And when at home, under a cautious mask
Concealing the lewd soul, his father thought
He grew in wisdom as he grew in years.
He fondly deem'd he could perceive the growth
Of goodness and of learning shooting up,
Like the young offspring of the shelter'd hop,
Unusual progress in a summer's night.

He call'd him home, with great applause dismiss'd

Away,' he cries,
Be good,

Bless'd him, and bade him prosper. With warm heart
He drew his purse-strings, and the utmost doit
Pour'd in the youngster's palm.
'Go to the seat of learning, boy.
Be wise, be frugal, for 'tis all I can.'
'I will,' said Toby, as he bang'd the door,
And wink'd, and snapp'd his finger,

Sir, I will.'

So joyful he to Alma Mater went
A sturdy fresh-man. See him just arriv'd,
Receiv'd, matriculated, and resolv'd
To drown his freshness in a pipe of port.
"Quick, Mr. Vintner, twenty dozen more;
Some claret too. Here's to our friends at home.
There let 'em doze. Be it our nobler aim

To live-where stands the bottle!' Then to town
Hies the gay spark for futile purposes,

And deeds my bashful muse disdains to name.
From town to college, till a fresh supply
Sends him again from college up to town.

The tedious interval the mace and cue,

The tennis-court and racket, the slow lounge
From street to street, the badger-hunt, the race,
The raffle, the excursion, and the dance,
Ices and soups, dice, and the bet at whist,
Serve well enough to fill.

*

So Toby fares, nor heeds,

Till terms are wasted, and the proud degree,

Soon purchas'd, comes his learned toils to crown.
He swears, and swears he knows not what, nor cares;
Becomes a perjur'd graduate, and thinks soon

To be a candidate for Orders. Ah!

Vain was the hope. Though many a wolf as fell
Deceive the shepherd and devour the flock, .
Thou none shalt injure. On a luckless day,
Withdrawn to taste the pleasures of the town,
Heated with wine, a vehement dispute
With a detested rival shook the roof.

He penn'd a challenge, sent it, fought, and fell;
And, if there be for such delinquents room

HERE, 'midst the boldest triumphs of her worth, Nature herself invites the reapers forth;

Dares the keen sickle from its twelvemonth's rest,
And gives that ardour which in every breast
From infancy to age alike appears,

When the first sheaf its plumy top uprears.
No rake takes here what Heaven to all bestows-
Children of want, for you the bounty flows!
And every cottage from the plenteous store

"Uneducated poets" have been less rare since "the Farmer's Boy" was ushered into the world; some whose destiny was not more fortunate than that of Bloomfield, have possessed genius far higher than his; but he was by no means of a common order, and little deserved the neglect and indifference which followed his brief popularity. One of the keys to his success, perhaps, is the fact that he never, attempted any thing to which his simple and natural mind was unequal. He wrote only of what he had seen or felt:-and as his opportunities were limited, so are his subjects. In the treatment of topics familiar to persons of his class-the humble labourers in our fields or alleys-he is, we think, even now unequalled. Peasants and mechanics have in our day written more vigorous and more correct verse;-the meadows of Northamptonshire, and the factories of Sheffield, have heard finer and bolder strains from those who live by toil among them;-one of the mightiest minds of the age produced his poems while working at the anvil, and still, apart from patronage, pursues his worldly calling. But the themes of his selection are not of a lowly character; or if he walks through green lanes and looks upon the reaper or the ploughman, it is with loftier thoughts and feelings than those which led the gentle,