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Each moral pleasure of the heart,
Each lasting charm of truth, Depends not on the giddy aid
Of wild, inconstant youth.
The vain coquet, whose empty pride
A fading face fupplies,
Where all its glory dies.
Leave such a ruin to deplore,
To fading forms confind: Nor
age nor wrinkles discompose One feature of the mind.
Amidst the universal change,
Unconscious of decay,
Sweep all besides away.
Fix'd on its own eternal frame,
Eternal are its joys:
Each mortal pleasure flies.
Destructive years consume,
Unfading myrtles blo .m.
The beauteous prospect ends,
To Paradise extends.
THE STORY OF LAVINIA.
FROM THOMSON'S SEASONS.
as the morning trembles o'er the sky, And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the spreading day, Before the ripen'd field the reapers ftand In fair array, each by the lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate, By nameless gentle offices, lier toil. At once they stoop, and swell the lusty shcaves, While through their cheerful hand the rural talk, The rural scandal, and the rural jelt, Fly harmless to deceive the tedious time, And steal, unfelt, the sultry hours away. Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks, And conlcious, glancing oft on every side His fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. The gleaners spread around, and here and there, Spike after fpike, their scanty harvest pick. Be not too narrow, Husbandmen! but fling From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, The lib'ral handful. Think, oh, grateful, think! How good the God of Harvest is to you, Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields ; While these unhappy partners of your kind Wide hover round you like the fowls of Heaven, And ask their humble dole. The various tuinis
Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want
The lovely young Lavinia once had friends,
A native grace
Recluse amid the close-embowering woods,
“What pity! that fo delicate a form, " By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense “ And more than vulgar goodness seein 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 thai patron of my happy life, “ From whom my lib’ral fortune took its rise, “Nów to the dust gone down, his houses, lands, “ And once fair-fpreading family, dissolv’d. "'Tis said, that in some 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 wish! would this the daughter were!"
When ftri&t 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 through his nerves in fhiv'ring transport ran! Then blaz’d his Imother'd fame, 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 frighten'd at his sudden tears, Her rising beauties flufh'd a higher bloom, As thus Palemon, passionate, and just, Pour'd out the pions rapture of his foul:
" And art thou then Acarto's dear remains ? “ She, whom my restless gratitude has fought “ So long in vain ? O Heavens! the very fame, “ The foften’d image of my noble friend ; “ Alive his very look, his very feature, “ More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring! s. Thou sole surviving bloffom from the root " That nourish'd up my fortune ! Say, ah, where,