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The ARGUMENT.

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The subject proposed. Addressed to Mr. OnSLOW.

prospect of the fields ready for harvest. Reflexions in praise of industry rais'd by that vietu. Reaping. A tale relative to it. A harvest form. Shooting and hunting, their barbarity. A viety of an orchard. Wall-fruit. A vineyard. A defcription of fogs, frequent in the latter part of Autumn: whence a digression, enquiring into the rise of fountains and rivers. Birds of seafon considered, that not fift their habitation. The prodigious number of them that cover the northern and western isles of SCOTLAND. Hence a view of the country. A prospect of the discoloured, fading woods. After a gentle dusky day, moonlight. Autumnal meteors. Morning: to which fucceeds a calm, pure, fun-fhiny day, such as usually shuts up the season. The harvest being gathered in, the country disolv'd in joy. The whole concludes with a panegyric on a philosophical country life,

A U T U M N.

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TROWN'D with the fickle, and the wheaten sheaf,

While AUTUMN, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more, Well pleas'd, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost Nitrous prepar'd; the various blossom'd spring Put in white promise forth; and summer-funs Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.

ONSLOW! the Muse, ambitious of thy name, To grace, inspire, and dignify her song, Would from the Publick Voice thy gentle ear A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows, The patriot-virtues that distend thy thought, Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow; While listening fenates hang upon thy tongue, 15 Devolving thro' the maze of eloquence A rowl of periods, sweeter than her song. But she too pants for public virtue, she, Tho' weak of power yet strong in ardent will,

Whene'er

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Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Affumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.

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When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, And Libra weighs in equal scales the year; From heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook Of parting Summer, a serener blue, With golden light enlivened wide invests The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise, Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft thro' lucid clouds A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below 30 Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. Rich, filent, deep, they stand; for not a gale Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain : A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 35 Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky; The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun By fits effulgent gilds th' illumin'd field, And black by fits the shadows sweep along. A gayly-checker'd heart-expanding view, Far as the circling eye can shoot around, Unbounded tosling in a flood of corn.

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These are thy blefings, INDUSTRY! rough power! Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain; Yet the kind source of every gentle art,

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And

And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature caft,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various feeds of art deep in the mind 50
Implanted, and profusely pour'd around

Materials infinite; but idle all.
• Still unexerted, in th' unconscious breast,

Slept the lethargic powers; corruption ftill,
Voracious, swallowed what the liberal hand

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Of bounty scatter'd o'er the favage year:
And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd
With beasts of prey; or for his acorn-meal
Fought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch!
Aghaft, and comfortless, when the bleak north, 60
With Winter charg'd, let the mix'd tempest fly,
Hail, rain, and fnow, and bitter-breathing froft:
Then to the shelter of the hut he fled;
And the wild season, fordid, pin'd away.
For home he had not; home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polith'd friends,
And dear relations mingle into bliss.
But this the rugged favage never felt,
Even desolate in crouds; and thus his days 70
Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along:
A waste of time! till INDUSTRY approachd,
And rous'd him from his miserable floth:

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