6 The Highland Poor.-From Mrs. Grant's Poem of The Highlander.' Where yonder ridgy mountains bound the scene, Her gallant sons, who, smit with honour's charms, The milky tribute from the lowing fold With cheerful haste officious children bring, That spring and flowercts smile for her in vain : Let those to wealth and proud distinction born, From Mrs. Tighe's 'Psyche.' The marriage of Cupid and Psyche in the Palace of Love. Psyche afterwards gazes on Love while asleep, and is banished from the Island of Pleasure. She rose, and all enchanted gazed On the rare beauties of the pleasant scene: Instre spanske c'er the tide: The clear bize ocean at a distance seen. Bands the ray While closing rot andscape on the western side, The lofty rocks id citron groves arise; *Sure some divinity must hire reelle? As tranced some brizit vision. Psyche cries, And scarce believes the bliss, or trusts her charméd eyes When lo! a voine divinely sweet she hears. From unseen lips proceeds the heavenly sound; At length his bride thy langing spouse has found, For thee the palace rose at his command. Increasing wonder filled her ravi-hed soul, For now the pompous porta's opened wide, Through hans hiza domed, enriched with sculptured pride, That scarce the beams of heaven emit such lustre bright, The amethyst was there of viclet hue, As the clear azure of a sunny day. Or the mild eyes where amorous glances play; The snow-white jasper, and the opal's flaille, The Elashing ruby, and the sgate ray, And there the gem which beurs his luckless name Whose death, by Phoebus mourned, insured him deathless fame. There the green emerald, there cornelians glow And rich carbuncles pour et rnal light, Now through the hall melodious music stole, To taste celestial food, and pure ambrosial streams. But when meek eve hung out her dewy star, All that voluptuous ease could e'er supply Once more she hears the hymeneal strain; The swelling sounds approach, a while remain, The expiring lamps emit a feebler ray, And soon in fragrant death extinguished lie: When through the obscuring gloom she nought can spy, But softly rustling sounds deciare some being nigh. Oh, you for whom I write! whose hearts can melt, Attends the unexpected voice of love: Above the lyre, the lute's soft notes above, And bears it to Elysium's happy grove; You best can tell the rapture Psyche feels, is he, 'tis my deliverer! deep imprest' But,ere the breezes of the morning call Psycle in vain explores the vacant hall; Her tender lover from her arms is fled, While seep his downy wings had o'er her eyelids spread. The Lily.-By Mrs. Tighe. How withered, perished seems the form It hides secure the precious fruit. The careless eye can find no grace, Till vernal suns and vernal gales Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap Oh! many a stormy night shall close And Ignorance, with sceptic eye, [view: As her soft tears the spot bedew. Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear! And nature bid her blossoms bloom. And thou, O virgin queen of spring! Unfold thy robes of purest white. In the mild breeze unfettered vave So Faith shall seek the lowly dust And bear the long, cold, wintry night, ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. ROBERT BLOOMFIELD (1766-1823), author of the 'Farmer's Boy,' and other poems illustrative of English rural life and customs, was born at Honington, near Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk. His father, a tailor, died whilst the poet was a child, and he was placed under his uncle, a farmer. Here he remained only two years, being too weak and diminutive for field-labour, and he was taken to London by an elder brother, and brought up to the trade of a shoemaker. His two years of country service, and occasional visits to his friends in Suffolk, were of inestimable importance to him as a poet, for they afforded materials for his 'Farmer's Boy,' and gave a freshness and reality to his descriptions. It was in the shoemaker's garret, however, that his poetry was chiefly composed; and the merit of introducing it to the world belongs to Mr. Capel Lofft, a literary gentlenan residing at Troston, near Bury, to whom the manuscript was shewn, after being rejected by several London booksellers. Mr. Lofft warmly befriended the poet, and had the satisfaction of seeing his prognostications of success fully verified. At this time Bloonfield was thirtytwo years of age, was married, and had three children. 'Farmer's Boy' immediately became popular; the Duke of Grafton patronised the poet, settling on him a small annuity, and through the influence of this nobleman, he was appointed to a situation in the Sealoffice. In 1810, Bloomfield published a collection of Rural Tales,' which fully supported his reputation; and to these were afterwards added Wild Flowers,' Hazelwood Hall,' a village drama, and Mayday with the Muses.' The last was published in the year of his death, and opens with a fine burst of poetical, though melancholy feeling. O for the strength to paint my joy once more! The The worldly circumstances of the author seem to have been such as to confirm the common idea as to the infelicity of poets. His situation in the Seal-office was irksome and laborious, and he was forced to resign it from ill-health. He engaged in the bookselling business, but was unsuccessful. In his latter years he resorted to making Eolian harps, which he sold among his friends. We have been informed by the poet's son-a modest and intelligent man, a printerthat Mr. Rogers exerted himself to procure a pension for Bloomfield, and Mr. Southey also took much interest in his welfare; but his last days were embittered by ill-health and poverty. So severe were the sufferings of Bloomfield from continual headache and nervous irritability, that fears were entertained for his reason, when, happily, death stepped in, and released him from the world's poor strife.' He died at Shefford, in Bedfordshire, on the 19th of August 1823. The first remarkable feature in the poetry of this humble bard is the easy smoothness and correctness of his versification. His ear was attuned to harmony, and his taste to the beauties of expression, before he had learned anything of criticism, or had enjoyed opportunities for study. This may be seen from the opening of his principal poem: Humble Pleasures. O come, blest Spirit! whatsoe'er thou art, Thon kindling warmth that hover'st round my heart; That poverty itself cannot destroy, Be thou my Muse, and faithful still to me, Retrace the steps of wild obscurity. No deeds of arms my humble lines rehearse; Nature's sublimer scenes ne'er charmed mine eyes, O point these raptures! bid my bosom glow, For all the blessings of my infant days! Bear me through regions where gay Fancy dwells; Live, trifling incidents, and grace my song, 'Twas thus with Giles, meek, fatherless, and poor, |