EPISTLE FROM ROGER COULTER,

OF DORSETSHIRE,

TO HIS FRIEND GILES BLOOMFIELD,
The Suffolk Farmer's Boy..

VRIEND GILES,

WHEN Vust I heard thy tuenvul voice,

I stood ameaz'd, an' star'd, and gap'd awoy :

That can't be Stephen, Ned, nor Hodge, I cried ;

When zome oone zaid-" Why that's the ZUFFOLK BOUY." An' presently the nightingeale begun,

Linnards an' gooldvinges, wi' envious droats*,

An' e'en the magpye an' the chattering jeat,
Meade the thick copses echo wi' their notes-

The very cows vorgot to chaw the quid,

The sheep stopt nibbling, an' glaw'd aall aroun' The children, ploying at the barkon§ geate,

Stood pleas'd, an' hearken'd to the mellow zoun'. I zometimes bit my lips, wi' very spite,

To thenk a stranger Bouy shou'd zing zoo well,
That Dooset shou'd produce thich stupid louts,
To let a Zuffolk clown bear off the bell-

That Dukes and Loords shou'd coourt his company,
An' ladies, too, for hobnail'd GILES shou'd zend,
To clouter o'er their parlor vlours-alack!-

But thic' good measter**—what d'ye caall's-his friend.

An' then, agen, wi' ready ears I ston',

An' long bout Ixwo'th's poor mad moid to hear,

Thy disappointments at the clod-wall'd hut,

An', in the moon-sheen leane, thy nashion vear. With aall thy wit, thou canst not teach thy art→→→ Else, if I know'd that sich a theng cou'd be, I'd drow off sheame (I be'n't as yet too wold,) An', Giles, I'd come an' learne to zing o' thee.

Throats. Jay. purlieus of farm-house.

Thine, &c.

ROGER COULTER.

Chew the cud. | Glaw-to stare. § Barkon-barton,
Dorset. ** Measter Capel Lofft.

AH! where dost thou wander, dear maid, tell me where,
With thy bosom of snow, and thy gold-waving hair?
Dost thou shriek to the screech owl the strains of despair,
As she moans on the battlement's height?

Dost thou think that thy William could ever destroy,
In thy sensitive heart the sweet blossom of joy?
That reddens like morn on the cheeks of thy boy,
And reflects in her eyes heav'n's light?

Like the star my love shone in the gentle blue space,
Where the sky, thickly gemm'd, to the traveller's face,
Bids him hope the dear cottage with safety to trace,
Where love lights the low roof with smiles.
Like that star is she vanish'd, no morning is near,
But blank are my wishes, my prospects as drear
As when o'er the white snows no track can appear
Which the wanderer's terror beguiles.

When I left England's shore, oh! my heart it was bold,
The knights of the red cross their flags did unfold-
But the flame of religion to love's flame is cold,

And I wept as I hung on her neck.

The trumpet

blew loudly, the vessel was near,

My charmer said nought, but an eloquent tear

Stream'd down her sweet cheek, and one moment of fear
Chill'd my heart as I stood on the deck.

With brave Cœur de Lion full often I fought,
And death in the heat of the strife set at nought:
No terror alarm'd, but the heart-rending thought
Of her-oh far dearer than life!

But an angel above hover'd over my crest,
And turn'd ev'ry arrow away from my breast.
Her beneficent air and her mild form express'd
That the angel of air was my wife.

While wounded and gasping, disdaining to yield,
The Saracens bore me away from the field,

My vain pray'r flew to heav'n, and begg'd it to shield
My love, and my innocent boy.

But tidings soon came to the angel of light

That her William was wounded and kill'd in the fight,
Then her day-star of hope was envelop'd in night,
And cold was her bosom to joy.

Her sire would fain force her another to wed,
But gone were her hopes, her affections were dead;
She snatch'd up her infant, and wildly she fled,
A wand'rer-heart-broken and wild.

Those peasants have seen her, at morning's first beam,
Ope her lovely dark eyes from some feverish dream,
Down her lily white cheek would the silver tear stream,
And rest on the face of my child.

So from Heaven full oft, as the mornings arise,
The mild dew descends from beneficent skies,
Like a gem in the blush of a rose-bud it lies,
And shines in its lovely retreat.

Ah! so on my baby lie Emmeline's tears,
For grief and affection still beauty endears;
In affliction how heavenly woman appears,
As man in adversity great.

Thy steps, my dear wanderer, still I pursue-
But ah, if ne'er destin'd the dear spot to view,

That holds happiness, love, joy, peace, friendship, and you,
my fate let me patiently bend.

Το

Thy lov'd image shall dwell on my heart's firmest throne,
Shall divert me from evil-'tis thou-thou alone,

Canst make my frail heart almost pure as thy own,
My angel, protector, and friend.

SONNE T.

An Imitation.

WHY thus obtrusive check my transport? Why
Stop the quick ardor of my glowing soul?
Oh! I am buoyant borne with pleasures bowl
And, cloth'd in purple, laughing Revelry
Waits on me: Mirth, with all her jocund train,
That erst lay dormant, as the op'ning morn
First gleams, now dazzles. The dread hour forlorn
Of melancholy hence. O join the strain,

H. S.

And fill the joyous choir, let sweetest notes
Of love-inspiring song soar to the skies.
Brisk Gaiety the haunts of horror flies,
And ever on the wings of fancy floats.
Begone, dull soul, pale Misery's bitters quaff,
Plunge deep in sorrow-but leave me to laugh.
Lichfield, 31 August, 1801.

THE PETITION.

Anacreontic.

WREN Bacchus first broke from old Jupiter's thigh,
And rode down in triumph to earth on a cask ;
A set of sharp fellows, as pleasant as dry,
Would his highness's favour and patronage ask.
Chor. Evohe, Bacche, jo, jo!

Oh! Bacchus is charming from top to toe!

So they wrote a petition, which ran at this odd rate-
"We your godship's petitioners, noble and trusty,
Can guage, roar a catch, and have passions so mod'rate,
"That tho' always dry, yet we never were crusty.

Chor. Evohe, &c.

"Your godship's fine stomach, so healthy and round, "We've endeavour'd to copy, at luncheon and feast;

"But so perfect a stomach can never be found;

"And so we've ten thousand times said to the priest. Chor. Evohe, &c.

"However, we would on your godship attend,

"Fill your cup, furnish toasts, and the corkscrew keep clean

"We may hope, with such noble example, to mend "And procure us a stomach that's fit to be seen.

Chor. Evohe, &c.

"And this is, my lord, all we ask in return;
"That your godship will pity our thirsty old clay;
* Permit us a week seven gallons to earn;

"And your godship's petitioners ever shall pray

Chor. Evohe, &c.

יין

This petition when Bacchus had read, from his cask
He nodded sublime, and with majesty spoke ;-

"Ye thirsty old spirits, ye born for the flask,
"O sweet shall ye roll on your flagons of oak!
Chor. Evohe, &c.

YY-VOL. XIII.

"Sure Nature has fashion'd these mouths for the bowl;
"Philosophy says, she made nothing in vain :

“And the wine shall your stomach so neatly console,
"That your feet by your eyes shall no longer be seen.
Chor. Evohe, &c.

"Then come, my brave boys;-hark, I hear the brown stout; "We'll see before morning old Carefulness dead ;

"And if cousin Di must her candle put out,

"The flame on our faces shall light us to bed!"

Chor. Evohe, &c.

J. H. L. HUNT.

MARY,

A Ballad.

NEAR yon rock, beneath the willow,

Mary sat in sad despair,

Cold and hard was Mary's pillow,
And her cheek was wan with care.

For her faithful sailor crying,
(He was far away at sea :)

Still she mourn'd, thus faintly sighing,
"O restore my love to me."

Hark! the welcome boat advancing,
Gaily sounds the steady oar,
Light her heart with rapture dancing,
Bright the moon illumes the shore.
"Gracious powers! protect and cheer him,
(While to Heav'n she bent the knee)
"Guardian angels hover near him!

"And restore my love to me."

Loudly now the tempest roaring,
Dash'd the vessel to and fro,
All in vain for help imploring,

Sank beneath the gulf below;
Frenzy seized poor Mary's bosom,
Plunging in the foaming sea,
"Bear me to my faithful sailor,
"Or restore my love to me."

S*