Verses on the Death of Bloomfield, the Suffolk Poet
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 20 January 2022
Summary
Thou shouldst not to the grave descend
Unmourn’d, unhonour’d, or unsung;—
Could harp of mine record thy end,
For thee that rude harp should be strung,—
And plaintive sounds as ever rung
Should all its simple notes employ,
Lamenting unto old, and young,
The Bard who sang THE FARMER's BOY.
Could Eastern Anglia boast a lyre
Like that which gave thee modest fame,
How justly might its every wire
Thy minstrel honours loud proclaim:
And many a stream of humble name,
And village-green, and common wild—
Should witness tears that knew not shame,
By Nature won for Nature's child.
The merry HORKEY's passing cup
Should pause—when that sad note was heard;
The Widow turn her hour-glass up,
With tenderest feelings newly stirr’d;
And many a pity-waken’d word,
And sighs that speak when language fails,
Should prove thy simple strains preferr’d
To prouder Poet's lofty tales.
Circling the old oak table round,
Whose moral worth thy measure owns,
Heroes and heroines yet are found
Like ABNER AND THE WIDOW JONES;—
There GILBERT MELDRUM's sterner tones
In Virtue's cause are bold and free;
And e’en the patient suff’rer's moans,
In pain, and sorrow— plead for thee.
Nor thus beneath the straw roof ‘d cot,
Alone— should thoughts of thee pervade
Hearts which confess thee unforgot,
On heathy hill, in grassy glade;
In many a spot by thee array’d
With hues of thought, with fancy's gleam,
Thy memory lives!—in EUSTON's shade,
By BARNHAM WATER's shadeless stream!
And long may guileless hearts preserve
The memory of thy song, and thee:—
While Nature's healthful feelings nerve
The arm of labour toiling free;
While Childhood's innocence and glee
With green Old Age enjoyment share;—
RICHARDS and KATES shall tell of thee,
WALTERS and JANES thy name declare.
On themes like these, if yet there breath’d
A Doric Lay so sweet as thine,
Might artless flowers of verse be wreath’d
Around thy modest name to twine:—
And though nor lute nor lyre be mine
To bid thy minstrel honours live,
The praise my numbers can assign,
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- Selected Poems of Bernard Barton, the 'Quaker Poet' , pp. 114 - 117Publisher: Anthem PressPrint publication year: 2020