341

AUTUM N.

RowN'o with the fickle, and the wheaten fheaf,

Crow

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 froft

Nitrous prepar'd; the various bloffom'd spring Put in white promife forth; and fummer-funs Concocted ftrong, rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and fwell my glorious theme.

When the bright Virgin gives the beau teous days,

And Libra weighs in equal fcales the year; From heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence fhook

Of parting Summer, a ferener blue

With golden light enliven'd wide invefts
The happy world. Attemper'd funs arife,
Sweet-beam'd, and hedding oft thro' lucid
clouds

A pleafing calm; while broad, and brown, below

Extenfive harvefts hang the heavy head...
Rich, filent, deep, they ftand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain;
A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air

Falls from its poife, and gives the breeze to blow.

Rent is the fleecy mantle of the fky

The clouds fly different, and the fudden fun By fits effulgent gilds th' illumen'd field,

Ef3

And

And black by fits the fhadows sweep along.
A gayly checker'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded toffing in a flood of corn.

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 fheaves;
While thro' their chearful band the rural talk,
The rural fcandal and the rural jeft
Fly harmlefs, to deceive the tedious time,.
And steal unfelt the fultry hours away.
Behind the mafter walks, builds up the fhocks;
And, confcious, glancing oft on every fide
His fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.
The gleaners spread around, and here and
there,

Spike after spike, their fparing harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, hulbandmen! but fling
From the full fheaf, with charitable ftealth,
The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful

think!

How good the God of harveft 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 hea

ven

And ask their humble dole. The various

turns

Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want What

What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends; And fortune fmil'd, deceitful, on her birth. For in her helplefs years depriv'd of all, Of every stay, fave 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 fashion 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-rose, 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 graceSat 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, Reclufe amid the clofe-embowering woods. As in the hollow breaft of Appenine, Beneath the fhelter of encircling hills,,

A

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 sweet Lavinia, till, at length, compell'd By ftrong Neceffity's fupreme command,

With fmiling patience in her looks, he 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 fong
Tranfmits from antient 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 blushes from his gaze:

He faw her charming, but he faw not half
The charms her down-caft 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 fcarce 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 sense, "And more than vulgar goodnefs feem to dwell,

"Should be devoted to the rude embrace "Of fome indecent clown? She looks, me thinks

"Of old Acafto's line; and to my mind.

6 Recalls

"Recals that patron of my happy life, "From whom my liberal fortune took its rife; "Now to the duft gone down; his houses, 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 those scenes which knew their bet-ter days,

"His aged widow and his daughter live, "Whom yet my fruitless fearch could never find.

"Romantic wish, would this the daughter

When, ftrict inquiring, from herself he found

She was the fame, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful Acafto; who can fpeak

The mingled paffions that furpriz'd his heart, And thro' his nerves in fhivering tranfport 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 frighten'd at his fudden tears, Her rifing beauties flufh'd a higher bloom; As thus Palemon, paffionate, and juft, Pour'd out the pious rapture of his foul.

"And art thou then Acafto's dear remains "She, whom my restlefs gratitude has fought, "So long in vain? Oh yes! the very fame, "The foften'd image of my noble friend, "Alive, his every feature, every look, "More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than fpring!

"Thou fole furviving bloffom from the root,

6. That