Strange to the world, he wore a bashful look, The fields his study, nature was his book.
Robert Bloomfield, Farmer's Boy, Spring, line 31.
A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,The grey sand dancing in its bed,Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,Sent forth its waters near my head:A rosy Lass approach'd my view;I caught her blue eye's modest beam:The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!'And leap'd across the infant stream.Robert Bloomfield
Soon round us spread the hills and dales,Where GEOFFREY spun his magic tales,And call'd them history. The landWhence ARTHUR sprung, and all his bandOf gallant knights. Sire of romance,Who led the fancy's mazy dance,Thy tales shall please, thy name still be,When Time forgets my verse and me.Robert Bloomfield
Build me a shrine, and I could kneel To rural Gods, or prostrate fall; Did I not see, did I not feel. That one GREAT SPIRIT governs all. O Heaven, permit that I may lie Where o'er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life's tumults fly With kindred feelings press my grave.Robert Bloomfield