"Summer" opens with some reflections on the farmer's life in a
prosy Crabbe-like manner; and here it may be noted that as a
rule Bloomfield no sooner attempts to rise to a general view
than he grows flat; and in like manner he usually fails when
he attempts wide prospects and large effects. He is at his
best only when describing scenes and incidents at the farm in
which he himself is a chief actor, as in this part when, after
the sowing of the turnip seed, he is sent out to keep the
small birds from the ripening corn:
There thousands in a flock, for ever gay,
Loud chirping sparrows welcome on the day,
And from the mazes of the leafy thorn
Drop one by one upon the bending corn.
Giles trudging along the borders of the field scares them with
his brushing-pole, until, overcome by fatigue and heat, he
takes a rest by the brakes and lying, half in sun and half in
shade, his attention is attracted to the minute insect life
that swarms about him:
The small dust-coloured beetle climbs with pain
O'er the smooth plantain leaf, a spacious plain!
Then higher still by countless steps conveyed,
He gains the summit of a shivering blade,
And flirts his filmy wings and looks around,
Exulting in his distance from the ground.
It is one of his little exquisite pictures. Presently his
vision is called to the springing lark:
Just starting from the corn, he cheerly sings,
And trusts with conscious pride his downy wings;
Still louder breathes, and in the face of day
Mounts up and calls on Giles to mark his way.
Close to his eye his hat he instant bends
And forms a friendly telescope that lends
Just aid enough to dull the glaring light
And place the wandering bird before his sight,
That oft beneath a light cloud sweeps along;
Lost for a while yet pours a varied song;
The eye still follows and the cloud moves by,
Again he stretches up the clear blue sky,
His form, his motions, undistinguished quite,
Save when he wheels direct from shade to light.
In the end he falls asleep, and waking refreshed picks up his
poles and starts again brushing round.
Harvesting scenes succeed, with a picture of Mary, the village
beauty, taking her share in the work, and how the labourers in
their unwonted liveliness and new-found wit
Confess the presence of a pretty face.
She is very rustic herself in her appearance: -
Her hat awry, divested of her gown,
Her creaking stays of leather, stout and brown:
Invidious barrier!
