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When the dew wets its leaves ; unftain's 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 far
Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace
Sat fair-proportion'd on her polifh'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,
Reclufe 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 Neceflity'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 faw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceald.
That

very moment love and chalte desire
Sprung in his bofom, to himself unknown;
For still 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 secret to his soul he figh’d.

" What pity! that so delicate a form, “ By beauty kindled, where enlivening 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, lands, “ And once fair-spreading family, diffolv'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, strict enquiring, from herself he found She was the same, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful Acasto; who can speak The mingled paffions that surpriz’d his heart, And through 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 frighten'd at his sudden tears, Her rising beauties flush'd a higher blooın, As thus PALEMON, passionate and just, Pour’d 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 heavens! the very fame,

“ The softened image of my noble friend, “ Alive his every 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 defert, halt 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 foil, “ Transplant thee safe! where vernal funs, and showers, • Diffuse their warmest, 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 ample heart, “ The father of a country, thus to pick 4 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 such a rugged talk; “ The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ; “ If to the various blessings which thy house

“ Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss,
“ That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee!”

Here ceas'd the youth: yet still his speaking eye
Express'd the facred triumph of his soul,
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais’d.
Nor wanted he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all
In sweet disorder loft, the blush'd consent,
The news immediate to her mother brought,
While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she 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.

Defeating oft the labours of the year,
The sultry fouth collects a potent blaft.
At first, the groves are scarcely seen to ftir
Their trembling tops ; and a ftill murmur runs
Along the foft-inclining fields of corn.
But as the aerial tempeft fuller swells,

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