SENT TO A LADY WHO WAS GOING TO A BALL
May health brace your nerves, as I find you’re for gadding,
And Care drop the end of his tether,
And stately dame Conscience give license for madding,
And toss up your heart like a feather.
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
SONG
norah
By the Bannow’s meandering stream,
By the green banks of Shannon I’ve stray’d;
I’ve bless’d the soft glance, as it came,
Of many a beautiful maid.
My heart throbb’d a moment, I own,5
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
YIELD THEE TO PLEASURE, OLD CARE
Yield thee to pleasure, old Care;
Hope—let me rejoice in thy truth;
Leave me, pale sickness; forbear,
And steal not the rose of my youth.
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
IRISH NEWS
tune—the yorkshireman.
‘By’t side of a brig stands over a brook.’
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
ÆOLUS
I am not disposed to court the powers of this poet-made god—except on a sultry summer’s day, when not a breath of air is in motion; at such a moment one might exclaim:—
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
EPITAPH FOR A YOUNG LADY
Youth, cheerfulness, and health, gave up their reign,
To all the bitterness of mortal pain.
Unshaken fortitude possess’d her mind,
And sense grew bright as beauty’s rose declined.
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
[WINE, beauty, smiles, and social mirth]
Wine, beauty, smiles, and social mirth,
Right welcome to the table;
These!—every mother’s son of earth
Will honour!—while he’s able.
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
FRAGMENT
’Twas when the abbey rear’d its spires,
Where good St. Edmund buried lies,
A cloister’d maid, with holy fires,
Subdued Love’s rebel tears and sighs.
At times subdued, at times she wept, 5
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
THE FLOWERS OF THE MEAD
How much to be wish’d that the flowers of the mead
The pleasures of converse could yield;
And be to our bosoms, wherever we tread,
The reasoning sweets of the field!
REMAINS OF ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1824)
CHARITY
In moorland cot—or hovel by the road,
Rest the poor Peasant and his shiv’ring boy,
—And theirs we deem Contentment’s blest abode,
Where Fancy riots in ideal joy!—
Shall this bar charity—when spare and thin5