Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky,
And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the fpreading day;
Before the ripen'd field the reapers ftand,
In fair array each by the lafs he loves,
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate
By nameless gentle offices her toil.

:

At once they stoop and fwell the lufty fheaves;
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 fultry hours away.
Behind the mafter walks, builds up the shocks;
And, confcious, glancing oft on every fide
His fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.
The gleaners fpread around, and here and there,
Spike after spike, their feanty harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling
From the full fheaf, 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 flowing fields;
While thefe unhappy partners of your kind,
Wide hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole. The various turns
Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want
What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.

The lovely young LAVINIA once had friends;
And fortune fmil'd, deceitful, on her birth.
For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all,
Of every stay, fave 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 folitude and deep furrounding fhades,
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd.
Together thus they fhunn'd the cruel scorn
Which virtue, funk to poverty, would meet
From giddy paffion and low-minded pride:
Almost on nature's common bounty fed
Like the gay birds that fung them to repose,
Content and careless of to-morrow's fare.
Her form was fresher than the morning rofe,

;

When the dew wets its leaves; unftain'd, and pure,
As is the lily, or the mountain fnow.
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 faithlefs fortune promis'd once,
Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy ftar
Of evening, fhone in tears.
A native grace
Sat fair proportion'd on her polifh'd limbs,
Veil'd in a fimple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of drefs; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most.
Thoughtlefs of beauty, fhe was beauty's felf,
Reclufe amid the close-embowering woods.
As in the hollow breaft of Appenine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A myrtle rifes, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild;
So flourish'd blooming, and unfeen by all,
The fweet LAVINIA; till, at length, compell'd
By ftrong neceffity's fupreme command,
With fmiling 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, fuch as Arcadian fong
Tranfmits from ancient uncorrupted times;
When tyrant cuftom had not shackled man,
But free to follow nature was the mode.
He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes
Amufing, chanc'd befide his reaper-train
To walk, when poor LAVINIA drew his eye;
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick
With unaffected blufhes from his gaze:
He faw her charming, but he faw not half
The charms her down-caft modefty conceal'd.
That very moment love and chaste desire
Sprung in his bofom, to himself unknown;
For ftill the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philofopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field:

And thus in fecret to his foul he figh'd.
"WHAT pity! that so delicate a form,
"By beauty kindled, where enlivening fenfe
"And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell,
"Should be devoted to the rude embrace

"Of fome 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 rife ;
"Now to the dust gone down; his houses, land,
"And once fair-spreading family, diffolv'd.
""Tis faid that in fome lone obfcure 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 fearch could never find.
"Romantic with! Would this the daughter were !"
When, ftrict enquiring, from herself he found
She was the fame, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful ACASTO; who can speak
The mingled paffions that furpriz'd his heart,
And thro' his nerves in fhivering transport ran?
Then blaz'd his fmother'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 fudden tears,
Her rifing beauties flush'd a higher bloom,
As thus PALEMON, paffionate, and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his foul.

"And art thou then ACASTO's dear remains?
"She, whom my restless gratitude has fought,
"So long in vain? O heav'ns! the very fame
"The foften'd image of my noble friend,
"Alive his very look, his every feature,
"More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring!
"Thou fole furviving bloffom 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 fuch beauty spread, and blown fo fair;
"Tho' poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain,
"Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender years?
"O let me now, into a richer foil,

"Transplant thee fafe! where vernal funs, and fhowers, "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 whofe open stores,
"Tho' vaft, were little to his ampler heart,
"The father of a country, thus to pick
"The very refuse of those harvest-fields,
"Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy.
"Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,
"But ill apply'd to fuch a rugged task;

"The fields, the mafter, all, my fair, are thine;
"If to the various bleffings which thy house
"Has on ne lavish'd, thou wilt add that blifs,
"That dearest blifs, the pow'r of bleffing thee!"
HERE ceas'd the youth: yet ftill his fpeaking eye
Express'd the facred triumph of his soul,
With confcious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irrefiftable, and all

In fweet diforder loft, fhe blufh'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 feiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of fetting life fhone on her evening hours:
Not lefs enraptur'd than the happy pair;
Who flourish'd long in tender blifs, 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 ftorms of rain, wind and fnow that ufually fucceed; which is followed by a landscape, or view, of the fnow driven into mountains, and a pathetic tale of a husbandman bewilder'd and loft near his own home; which naturally introduces reflections on the wants and miferies of mankind. He then fpeaks of the wolves defcending from the Alps and Apennines, and defcribes a winter Evening, as fpent by philofophers, by the country people, and by those in London. He then prefents us with a froft, with a view

of winter within the Polar Circle, and of a thaw, and concludes the poem with moral reflections on a future ftate.

His reflections on midnight, and the addrefs to the Su preme Being, are pious and beautiful.

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds,
Slow-meeting, mingle into folid gloom.
Now, while the drowfy world lies loft in fleep,
Let me afsociate with the serious Night,
And Contemplation her fedate compeer;
Let me shake off th' intrufive cares of day,
And lay the meddling fenfes 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 vifions past,
And broken flumbers, rises still resolv'd
With new-flush'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 purfuit! and feed my foul

With knowledge, confcious peace, and virtue pure;
Sacred, fubftantial, never-fading blifs!

The defcription of a deep fnow, and of a husbandmau loft in it, with the reflections on the wants and miferics of mankind, are seasonable and pathetic.

As thus, the fnows arife; and foul, and fierce;
All winter drives along the darken'd air;
In his own loofe-revolving fields, the fwain
Disaster'd ftands; fees other hills ascend,
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes,
Of horrid prospect, fhag the tracklefs plains:
Nor finds the river, nor the foreft, hid
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on
From hill to dale, ftill more and more aftray;

Impatient flouncing thro' the drifted heaps,

Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home