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Nor with the narrow bounds of time,

The beauteous profpect ends,

But, lengthen'd through the vale of death,
To paradife extends.

THE STORY OF LAVINIA.

FROM THOMSON'S SEASONS.

Soon 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 lafs he loves,
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate,
By nameless gentle offices, her toil.

At once they stoop, and fwell the lufty sheaves,
While through their cheerful band the rural talk,
The rural scandal, and the rural jest,

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 fcanty harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, hufbandmen! but fling
From the full fheaf, with charitable stealth,

The liberal handful. Think, oh, grateful, think!
How good the God of harvest 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 turns
Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want
What now, with hard reluctance, faint ye give.

75

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 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 folitude and deep furrounding fhades,
But more by bashful modefty, conceal'd.
Together thus they fhunn'd the cruel fcorn
Which Virtue, funk to poverty, would meet
From giddy Paffion and low minded Pride:
Almoft on Nature's common bounty fed,
Like the gay birds that fung them to repofe,
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 star
Of evening, fhone in tears. A native grace
Sat fair proportion'd on her polish'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 moft.
Thoughtless of beauty, fhe was beauty's felf,
Recluse 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, fhe went!
To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of fwains
Palemon was! the generous, and the rich!
Who led the rural life in all its joy
And elegance, fuch as Arcadian song
Tranfmits 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 fcenes:

Amufing, chanc'd befide his reaper-train

To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye,
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick,
With unaffected bluthes, from his gaze.
He faw her charming, but he faw not half
The charms her downcaft modefty conceal'd.
That very moment love and chafte defire
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 fo delicate a form, "By beauty kindled, where enlivening fenfe "And more than vulgar goodness feem to dwell, "Should be devoted to the rude embrace

""Of fome indecent clown! She looks, methinks,
"Of old Acafto's line, and to my mind
"Recals that patron of my happy life,

"From whom my liberal fortune took its rife,
"Now to the duft gone down, his houfes, lands,
"And once fair-fpreading family, diffolv'd..
"'Tis faid that in fome lone obfcure retreat,
"Urg'd by remembrance fad, and decent pride,
"Far from thofe fcenes w hichknew 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 inquiring, from herself he found
She was the fame, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful Acaito; who can speak

The mingled paffions that furpris'd his heart,
And through his nerves in thivering 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 frightened at his fudden tears,
Her rifing beauties flufh'd a higher bloom,
As thus Palemon, paffionate, and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his foul :

"And art thou then Acafto's dear remains? "She, whom my reftlefs gratitude has fought "So long in vain? O heavens! the very fame, "The foftened image of my noble friend; "Alive his every lock, his every feature, "More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than fpring! "Thou fole furviving bloffom from the roct "That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where ! "In what fequefter'd defert, haft thou drawn "The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven? "Into fuch beauty fpread, and blown fo fair, "Though poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain, "Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years? "O let me now into a richer foil

"Tranfplant thee fafe! where vernal funs and fhow'rs "Diffufe their warmeft, largeft influence;

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