Who still remain to hear the ocean roar, Whose greedy waves devour the lessening shore; 66 The Rev. John Black was for many years a resident at Woodbridge, and died there Aug. 30th, 1813, in the 59th year of his age. He was licenced to the perpetual curacy of Butley in 1789; and to that of Ramsholt in 1807; and was highly respected for the excellency of his understanding, and the amiable qualities of his heart. He was a good classical scholar, and possessed a considerable share of poetical talent. The pious resignation of a christian supported him in the troubles and privations, which it was his hard lot to encounter in domestic life. In 1791, he published "A Sermon, occasioned by the death of the Rev. Thomas Carthen, F. S. A. late minister at Woodbridge, "&c." 4to. "Political Calumny refuted; addressed to "the Inhabitants of Woodbridge, containing an extract "of a sermon, preached at Butley, on the Fast Day," 1793: "A Sermon, preached at Otley, on the day ap "pointed for a General Thanksgiving on account of our "naval victories:" "Solitary Musings, in verse;" 8vo. in 1799, 66 Poems," 8vo. which were honored by a very large subscription, and to which is prefixed his por trait; and in 1801, "The Free School, a Poem; to "which is added an Elegy on the Death of Edmund "Jenney, esq. of Bredfield; and of Philip Bowes Broke, esq. of Nacton," who both died in that year. 8vo. YE shepherds, round BUTLEY who stray, * Drive sorrow and care far away! Give your tears, and your sighs to the deep! Its columns of smoke curling play, In honour of fair DONEGALL! We have walk'd round the ruins and sigh'd, The sheep in Suffolk have black faces and legs. + At this place, which is about four miles from the sea and three from Orford, was a Priory of Black Canons of the order of St. Augustine, founded in 1171 by Ranulph de Glanvile, Chief Justice of England, who dedicated it to the Blessed Virgin, and amply endowed it with lands and churches. At the Dissolution, the annual income was estimated at 318. 17s. 2d. Its site was granted 32nd Henry VIII, to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, and in the 36th of the of the same king to William Forth, in whose family it long remained. In 1737, George Wright, esq. whose property it then was, fitted up the Gate-House, and converted it into a handsome mansion, which has since been inhabited, as a shooting seat, by various persons of distinction. Mr Wright, at his death, left it to his widow, from whom it decended to John Clyatt, a watchman in London, as heir-at-law; and was by him sold to Mr. Strahan, printer to his Majesty. It was afterwards the property of Lord Archibald Hamilton, the eldest son of James, the third duke of Hamilton, by Elizabeth, his third wife, the daughter and heir of Edward Spencer of Rendlesham, esq. and who, on the decease of his elder brothers and nephews, became the seventh duke of Hamilton. He added two tasteless wings to it, which are as yet unfinished, and by him it was sold, with the Rendlesham estates, to the father of the present noble possessor. The Priory was both large and magnificent; its walls and ruins occupy nearly twelve acres. The Gate-House was an elegant structure. Its whole front is embellished with coats of arms finely cut în stone; and between the interstices of the free-stone are placed square black flints, which, by the contrast of the colour, give a very beautiful and rich appearance. Soath of the gate-way are the remains of several buildings, particularly of an old chapel. The Mansion is now shut up; a part of the offices only being occupied by some laboring people. The Gate-House has been frequently engraved. Barbara, the third wife of Arthur, first Marquis of Donegall, She was the daughter of the Rev. Dr. Godfrey, and was married to his Lordship October 12th, 1790. They both resided here occasionally, for some years. The Marquis's first wife was Anne, the only daughter of James, Duke of Hamilton, by Elizabeth, the daughter and heir of Edward Spencer, of Rendlesham, esq. by whom he had George Augustus, the present Marquis. How the wants of the poor were supplied― You have seen the bright star of the morn From the bosom of ocean arise : You have seen the dew-drops on the thorn You have seen silver CYNTHIA's soft ray Like the eyes of the fair DONEGALL? Her look is benignant and kind, Long sorrow had stifled my voice ; An Elegy ON THE ENCLOSURE OF HONINGTON GREEN, BY NATHANIEL BLOOMFIELD. Honington will in future be celebrated as the birthplace of Robert Bloomfield, one of the simplest and most captivating of our pastoral poets, and of his brother the author of the following elegy. A cottage near the church was inhabited by the family; and the mother of the poets finished her career under its friendly roof, in the year 1804. The spot, which is the subject of this ballad, is less than half an acre. It was certainly an ornament to the village, and to the Bloomfields every circumstance gave it peculiar endearment. There the author of "The Farmer's Boy,” and of this ballad, first drew breath: there grew the first daisies which their feet pressed in childhood. On this little green their parents looked with delight; and the children caught the affection, and learned to love it as soon as they loved any thing. As a poetical effusion, says Capel Lofft, it strikes me that this elegy has the tone, simplicity, sweetness, and pleasing melancholy of the ballad. There is a stroke or two of indignant severity: but the general character is such as I have described. And with filial gratitude and love there is blended, at the close, that turn for reflection, which is so remarkable in this author. A view of the Church and Green is prefixed to this poem. THE proud City's gay wealthy train, That Honington Green is no more; That no more upon Honington Green I e'en could indulge a fond tear. Her parents with plenty were blest, (Early clos'd the blest days he had seen) My Father was laid in his grave, In the Church-yard on Honington Green. I faintly remember the Man, Who died when I was but a child; But far as my young mind could scan, His manners were gentle and mild: He won infant ears with his lore, Nor let young ideas run wild, Tho' his hand the severe rod of pow'r Not anxiously careful for pelf, Melancholic and thoughtful, his mind He from friends, and from converse would fly, In weeping a luxury found, And reliev❜d others' woes with a sigh, |