^'I.J MELAKCIIOLY HOURS. 353 



He seeks a covert where to hide and rest : 

 At every leaf that rustles in the breeze 

 Starting, ]ie grasps his sword ; and every nerro 

 Is ready strain 'd, for combat or for flight." 



P. 12, Essay on War. 



If Mr Bloomfield had written nothing besides the 

 *' Elegy on the Enclosure of Honington Green," he would 

 have had a right to be considered as a poet of ifo mean 

 excellence. The heart which can read passages like the 

 following without a sympathetic emotion must be dead 

 to every feeling of sensibility. 



STAKZA VI. 



" The proud city's gay wealthy train, 



"N^lio nought but refinement a^ore. 

 May wonder to hear me complain 



That Honington. Green is no more ; 

 But if to the church you ere went, 



If you knew what the village has been, 

 You will sympathize while I lament 



The enclosure of Honington Green. 



VII. 

 " That no more upon Honington Green 

 Dwells the matron whom most I revero. 

 If by pert observation unseen, 



I e'en now could indulge a fond tear. 

 Ere her bright morn of life was o'evcast, 



A^'hen my senses first woke to the scene, 

 Some short happy hours she had past 

 On the margin of Honington Green, 



VIII. 

 *' Her parents with yilenty were blest, 



And numerous her children, and young, 

 Youth's blossoms her cheek yet possett, 



And melody Avoke when she sung: 

 A widow so youthful to leave 



(Early closed the blest days he had seen), 

 Aly father was laid in his grave, 



In the churchyard on Honington Green. 



XXI. 



** Dear to me was the wild thorny hill, 



And dear the brown heath's sober scene; 

 And youth shall find happiness still, 



Though he rove not on common or green. 



