A chain-dropp'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall!
Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide,
Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,

With a huge empty flagon by his side:

The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,

But his sagacious eye an inmate owns :

By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:

The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;

The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.

XLII.

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.

THE FARMER'S BOY.

BY ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.

[ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, the son of a tailor, was born at Honington, near Bury St. Edmund's, Suffolk, in the year 1766. His father died when the poet was a child, and the boy was placed under the care of his uncle, a farmer. He remained with him only two years, and his frame being too delicate for field labour, he was taken by his elder brother to London, where he was brought up to the trade of a shoemaker. Here he wrote his "Farmer's Boy," a poem full of reminiscences of the rural scenes and rustic employments which he witnessed and engaged in while at his uncle's. The manuscript was offered to the booksellers and rejected; but under the patronage of a literary gentleman, Mr. Capel Lofft, it was introduced to the public, and was eminently successful. Though befriended by Mr. Lofft and assisted by the Duke of Grafton, Bloomfield had a great share of those miseries which by some fatality seem to attend the lives of poets. His latter years were clouded by dejection and poverty. He died at Shefford, in Bedfordshire, on the 19th of August, 1823.]

SPRING.

INVOCATION, ETC - —SEEDTIME-HARROWING-MORNING WALKS-MILKING --THE DAIRY-SUFFOLK CHEESE-SPRING COMING FORTH--SHEEP FOND

OF CHANGING-LAMBS AT PLAY-THE BUTCHER, ETC.

O COME, blest Spirit! whatsoe'er thou art,

Thou kindling 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;

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 pursued ;
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 changed 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.

Where noble Grafton spreads his rich domains,
Round Euston's water'd vale, and sloping plains,
Where woods and groves in solemn grandeur rise,
Where the kite brooding unmolested flies;
The woodcock and the painted pheasant race,

And skulking foxes, destined for the chace :