Robert Bloomfield

"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."

"Soon round us spread the hills and dales, Where GEOFFREY spun his magic tales, And call'd them history. The land Whence ARTHUR sprung, and all his band Of 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."

"Adieu, LANDOGA, scene most dear, Farewell we bade to ETHEL'S WIER; Round many a point then bore away, Till morn was chang'd to beauteous day: And forward on the lowland shore, Silent majestic ruins wore The stamp of holiness; this strand The steersman hail'd, and touch'd the land."