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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 passions that surprised his heart, And through his nerves in shivering transport ran! Then blazed 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. Confused, and frighten’d at his sudden tears, Her rising beauties flash'd a higher bloom, 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 sought So long in vain ? O heavens! the very same, The soften'd 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 sequester'd desert, hast thou drawn The kindest aspect of delighted heaven? Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair, Though poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain, Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years ? O let me now into a richer soil Transplant thee safe! wbere vernal suns and showers

Diffuse their warmest, largest influence;
And of my garden be the pride and joy!
It ill befits thee, oh it ill befits
Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores,
Though vast, 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 applied to such a rugged task ;
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 ceased the youth : yet still his speaking eye
Express’d the sacred triumph of his soul ;
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely raised.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all
In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent.
The news immediate to her mother brought,
While, pierced with anxious thought, she pined away
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate.
Amazed, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seized her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening hours:
Not less enraptured 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.

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

BY POPE.

FATHER of all! in every age,

In every clime adored,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord.

Thou great First Cause least understood !

Who all my sense confined,
To know but this, that thou art good,

And that myself am blind :

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,

To see the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,

Left free the human will.

What conscience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more than hell to shun,

That, more than heaven pursue.

What blessings thy free bounty gives,

Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives,

Tenjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound; Or think thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round.

Let not this weak, unknowing hand

Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land

On each I judge thy foe,

If I am right, thy grace impart,

Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh teach my heart

To find that better way.

Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied,

Or aught thy goodness lent.

Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me.

Mean though I am, not wholly so,

Since quicken’d by thy breath; O lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Through this day's life or death.

This day, be bread and peace my lot:

All else beneath the sun,
Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not,

And let thy will be done.

To thee, whose temple is all space,

Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all beings raise !

Al nature's incense rise!

THE PASSIONS,

AN ODE.

BY COLLINS.

WHEN Music, heavenly maid! was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The PASSIONS oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muses' painting.

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