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Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, And, unperceiv’d, unfolds the spreading day; Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, In fair array : each by the lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil. At once they stoop and swell the lufty sheaves; While thro’ their chearful band the rural talk, The rural scandal, and the rural jeft, Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks ; And, conscious, glancing oft on every fide His fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. The gleaners spread around, and here and there, Spike after spike, their seanty harvest pick. Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fing From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think ! How good the God of Harvest is to you ; Who pours
abundance o'er your dowing fields ; While these unhappy partners of your kind, Wide hover round you, like the fowls of heaven, And ak their humble dole. The various turns Of fortune ponder ; that your sons may want What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.
The lovely young LAVINIA once had friends; And fortune smild, deceitful, on her birth. l'or, in her helpless years depriv'd of all, Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven, She with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, And poor, liv'd in a cottage, far retir'd Among the windings of a woody vale ; By solitude and deep surrounding shades, But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. Together thus they sunn'd the cruel fcorn Which virtue, funk to poverty, would meet From giddy passion and low-minded pride : Almost on nature's common bounty fed ; Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, Content and careless of to-morrow's fare. Her form was fresher than the morning rofe,
A native grace
When the dew wets its leaves ; unftain'd, and pure,
very moment love and chaste desire
And thus in secret to his soul he figh’d. " What pity! that so delicate a form, “ By beauty kindled, where enlivéning sense • And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell, ". Should be devoted to the rude embrace « Of some indecent clown! She looks, methinks, « Of old Acasto's line ; and to my mind • Recalls that patron of my happy life, • From whom my liberal fortune took its rise ; “ Now to the dust gone down ; his houses, land, “ And once fair-spreading family, diffolvd. « 'Tis said that in fome lone obscure retreat, « Urg'd by remembrance fad, and decent pride, “ Far from those scenes which knew their better days, " His aged widow and his daughter live, • Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. • Romantic with! Would this the daughter were !"
When, strict enquiring, from herself he found She was the same, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful ACASTO ; who can speak The mingled passions that surpriz'd his heart, And thro' his nerves in shivering transport ran? Then blaz’d his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold; And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er, Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. Confus'd, and frightned at his sudden tears, Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom, As thus PALEMON, passionate, and just, Pourd out the pious rapture of his soul.
“ And art thou then AcAsTo's dear remains ? “ She, whom my restless gratitude has fought, “ So long in vain? O heav'ns! the very same « The foftend image of my noble friend, " Alive his very look, his every feature, “ More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring! “ Thou sole surviving blossom from the root • That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where, « In what fequefter'd defart, haft thou drawn “ The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven? “ Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair ; “ Tho' poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain, “ Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender years ? “O let me now, into a richer soil,
“ Transplant thee safe! where vernal suns, and showers,
Here ceas'd the youth : yet still his speaking eye
In his poem on Winter, he descibes the approach of that season, and the various storms of rain, wind and snow that usually fucceed ; which is followed by a landscape, or view, of the snow driven into mountains, and a pathetic tale of a husbandman bewilder'd and loft ne his own home; which naturally introduces reflections on the wants and miseries of mankind. He then speaks of the wolves descending from the Alps and Apennines, and describes a winter Evening, as Spent by philosophers, by the country peopie, and by those in London. He then presents us with a frost, with a view
of winter within the Polar Circle, and of a chaw, and concludes the poem with moral reflections on a future ftate.
His reflections on midnight, and the address to the Su. preme Being, are pious and beautiful.
As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds,
Where now, ye lying vanities of life!
Father of light and life! thou GOOD SUPREME !
The description of a deep snow, and of a husbandmau loft in it, with the reflections on the wants and miserics of mankind, are seasonable and pathetic.
As thus, the snows arise; and foul, and fierce ; All winter drives along the darken’d air ; In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend, Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes, Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plains : Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on From hill to dale, ftill more and more astray ; Impatient flouncing thro' the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of hone