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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,
As is the lily, or the mountain snow.
The modeft virtues mingled in her eyes,
Still on the ground dejected, darting all
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers :
Or when the mournful tale her mother told,
Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once,
Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy ftar
Of evening, shone in tears.
Sat fair proportion'd on her polith'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most.
'Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,
Recluse amid the close-embowering woods.
As in the hollow breast of Appenine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A myrtle rises, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild ;
So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all,
The sweet LAVINIA; till, at length, compellid
By strong necessity's supreme command,
With smiling patience in her looks, she went
To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains
PALEMON was, the generous, and the rich;
Who led the rural life in all its joy
And elegance, such as Arcadian song
Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times;
When tyrant custom had not shackled man,
But free to follow nature was the mode.
He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes
Amusing, chanc'd beside his reaper-train
To walk, when poor LAVINIA drew his eye ;
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick
With unaffected blushes from his gaze :
He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her down-cast modesty conceal'd.

very moment love and chaste desire
Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown ;
For still the world prevaild, and its dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field :

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,
“ Diffuse their warmeft, largest influence ;
“ And of my garden be the pride, and joy !
“ Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits
“ Acasto's daughter, his whose open stores,
• Tho'vast, were little to his ampler heart,
• The father of a country, thus to pick
“ The very refuse of those harveft-fields,
" Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy.
" Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,
“ But ill apply'd to such a rugged talk ;
“ The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine;
“ If to the various blessings which thy house
“ Has on ne lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss,
“ 'That dearest bliss, the pow'r of bleffing thee !"

Here ceas'd the youth : yet still his speaking eye
Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul,
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irrefable, and all
In sweet disorder loft, she blush'd confent.
The news immediate to her mother brought,
While, pierc'd with anxious thought, fhe pin'd away
The lonely moments for LAVINIA's fate;
Amaz’d, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening hours:
Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair ;
Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.

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,
Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom.
Now, while the drowsy world lies loft in sleep,
Let me associate with the serious Night,
And Contemplation her fedate compeer ;
Let me shake off th’intrusive cares of day,
And lay the meddling senses all afide.

Where now, ye lying vanities of life!
Ye ever-tempting ever-cheating train !
Where are you now? and what is your amount ?
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse.
Sad, fickening thought! and yet deluded man,
A scene of crude disjointed visions past,
And broken slumbers, rises still resolu'd
With new-fulh'd hopes, to run the giddy round.

Father of light and life! thou GOOD SUPREME !
O teach me what is good ! teach me THYSELF !
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit! and feed my soul
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure ;
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss !

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


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