He says, "I have endeavour'd to bring it back to my mind: but can only remember the following; which is not the beginning nor the finish."
Round LYBIA'S south point, where from toils so late freed,
Sweet Hope cheer'd my soul as we clear'd the rough sea;
I strove midst the Tars to improve the ship's speed;
Nor thought I of aught but ANNA and THEE.
Here comes the dear Girl! comes with kind arms extended
To welcome me!… limbs numb'd with age fain would move.
My cheek feels the offspring of rapture warm blended,
With answering drops:… this the meed of chaste Love!
Rouse the Fire—
* * * * *
I think every Reader will be of opinion that it is indeed desirable the whole Song, of which this is a Fragment, should be recover'd. It will probably be found (according to the recollection of the Author) either in the General Advertiser, Gazetteer, or Courant. From these specimens, and some I have since had the pleasure to see in MS. Mr. BLOOMFIELD appears fully to possess the simple, yet elegant, pathetic, and animated flow of Composition, the sweetness of Diction, Thought, and Numbers, which the SONG or BALLAD in their best character require.
I now quote a little Fragment in blank verse from the same Letter: with a slight correction in a place or two where the distribution or mechanism of the lines was not exact.
SUBJECT. An Harvest Scene: describing Gleaners return'd from the Field.
—Welcome the Cot's
Warm walls!… thrice welcome Rest, by toil endear'd;
Each hard bed softening, healing every care.
Sleep on, ye gentle souls …
Unapprehensive of the midnight thief!
Or if bereft of all with pain acquir'd,
Your fall, with theirs compar'd who sink from affluence,
With hands unus'd to toil, and minds unus'd
To bend, how little felt! how soon repair'd!
The ear of the Author seems as sweetly attun'd to verse without as with Rhime: though his less practice has given him proportionally less exactness.