Her form was frefher 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 ftar Of evening, fhone in tears. A native grace Sat fair proportion'd on her polifh'd limbs, Veil'd in a fimple robe, their belt attire, Beyond the pomp of drefs: for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most. Thoughtlefs 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 myrtle rifès, far from human eye,
And breathes it 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 fong Tranfmits from antient uncorrupted times: When tyrant cuftom had not fhackled man, But free to follow Nature was the mode. He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes Amufing, chanc'd befide his reaper-train To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye, Unconfcious of her power, and turning quick With unaffected blushes from his gaze: He faw her charming, but he saw not half The charms her down-caft modefty conceal'd. That very moment love and chafte defire Sprung in his bofom, to himfelf unknown; For ftill the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh, Which fcarce the firm philofopher can fcorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field, allain'!' 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 goodnefs feem to dwell, "Should be devoted to the rude embraces to "Of fome indecent clown! She looks, methinks, "Of old Acafto's line; and to my mind "Recalls 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 which knew 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 enquiring, from herself he found She was the fame, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful Acafto; who can speak
The mingled paffions that furpriz'd his heart, And thro' his nerves in fhivering transports 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 leftlefs gratitude has fought, "So long in vain? yes! the very fame, "The foftened image of my noble friend, "Alive, his every feature, every look, "More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring! "Thou fole-furviving bloffom from the root "That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where, ? "In what fequefter'd defart, haft thou drawn "The kindeft afpect of delighted heaven? "Into fuch beauty fpread, and blown fo fair; "Tho' poverty's cold wind, and crufhing rain, "Beat keen, and heavy on thy tender years? "O let me now, into a richer foil
"Tranfplant thee fafe! where vernal funs, and fhowers, "Diffufe their warmeft, largeft influence; "And of my garden be the pride, and joy! "Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits
"Acafto's daughter, his whofe open stores, "Tho' vaft, were little to his ampler heart, "The father of a country, thus to pick "The very refufe of thofe harvest-fields, "Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy. "Then throw that fhameful pittance from thy hand, "But ill apply'd to fuch a rugged tafk;
"The fields, the mafter, all, my fair, are thine; "If to the various bleffings which thy house "Has on me lavifh'd, thou wilt add that blifs, "That deareft blifs, the power of bleffing thee !" Here ceas'd the youth: yet ftill his fpeaking eye Exprefs'd the facred triumph of his foul, With confcious virtue, gratitude, and love, oltu Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'dupont Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm Of goodnefs irrefiftible, and all of t In fweet diforder loft, the blufh'd confent. The news immediate to her mother brought, While, pierc'd with anxious thought, the pin'd away The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate; Amaz'd and fcarce believing what the heard, Joy feiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam Of fetting life fhone on her evening-hours:
Not lefs enraptur'd than the happy pair;
Who flourish'd long in tender blifs, and rear'duot A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.
A MAN perifhing in the SNOW, with REFLEXIONS on the MISERIES of HUMAN LIFE.U
[THOMSON.Vidiotach
S thus the fnows arife; and foul, and fierce, All winter drives along the darkened air; In his own loofe-revolving fields the swain de Difafter'd ftands; fees other hills afcend, Of unknown joyless brow! and other fcenes, Of horrid profpect, fhag the tracklefs plain: Nor finds the river, nor the foreft, hid
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on From hill to dale, ftill more and more aftray; Impatient flouncing thro' the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home; the thoughts of home Ruth on his nerves, and call their vigour forth In many a vain attempt. How finks his foul! What black defpair, what horror fills his heart! When for the dufky fpot, which fancy feign'd, His tufted cottage rifing thro' the fnow, He meets the roughness of the middle wafte, Far from the track, and bleft abode of Man;. While round him night refiftlefs clofes faft, And every tempeft, howling o'er his head, Renders the favage wildernefs more wild. Then throng the bufy fhapes into his mind, Of cover'd pits, unfathomably deep, A dire defcent beyond the power of froft, Of faithlefs bogs; of precipices huge,
Smooth'd up with fnow; and, what is land, unknown, What water, of the ftill unfrozen spring,
In the loose marfh or folitary lake,
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. Thefe check his fearful steps; and down he finks Beneath the fhelter of the fhapeless drift, Thinking o'er all the bitternefs of death, Mix'd with the tender anguifh Nature shoots Thro' the wrung bofom of the dying Man, His wife, his children, and his friends unfeen.. In vain for him th' officious wife prepares The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm; In vain his little children, peeping out Into the mingling ftorm, demand their fire, With tears of artlefs innocence. Alas! Nor wife, nor children, môre fhall he behold, Nor friends, nor facred home. On every nerve bove The deadly winter feizes; fhuts up fenfe;
And, o'er his inmoft vitals creeping-cold, Lays him along the fnows, a ftiffened corfe, Stretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blaff. Ah little think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence furround; They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel, riot wafte;
Ah little think they, while they dance along,.
How many feel, this very moment, death And all the fad variety of pain :
How many fink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame: how many bleed, By fhameful variance betwixt Man and Man: How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms; Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs: how many drink the cup Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread Of mifery: fore pierc'd by wintry winds, How many fhrink into the fordid hut Of cheerlefs poverty: how many fhake With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, Unbounded paffion, madnefs, guilt, remorfe; Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, They furnish matter for the tragic mufe: Even in the vale, where wifdom loves to dwell, With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd, How many, rack'd with honeft paffions, droop In deep retir'd diftrefs: how many ftand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguifh.-Thought fond Man Of thefe, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one inceffant ftruggle render life, One fcene of toil, of fuffering, and of fate, Vice in his high career would ftand appall'd, And heedlefs rambling Impulfe learn to think; The confcious heart of charity would warm, And her wide with benevolence dilate; The focial tear would rife, the focial figh; And into clear perfection, gradual blifs, Refining ftill, the focial paffions work.
The SUBJECT of PARADISE LOST- INVOCATION of the MUSE-MAN'S DISOBEDIENCE -Loss of PARADISE-SATAN driven out of HEAVEN.
F Man's firft difobedience, and the fruit
whofe mortal tafte Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With lofs of Eden, till one greater Man, Reftore us, and regain the blissful feat, Sing, heav'nly Mufe! that on the fecret top
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