Live in her lay, and flutter thro' her song: Not mean though simple; to the sun allied,

From him they draw their animating fire.

Wak'd by his warmer ray, the reptile

young

Come wing'd abroad; by the light air upborne,

Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink,

And secret corner, where they slept away The wintry storms; or rising from their tombs,

To higher life; by myriads, forth at once, Swarming they pour; of all the varied hues

Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. Ten thousand forms! ten thousand different tribes!

People the blaze. To sunny waters some By fatal instinct fly; where on the pool They, sportive, wheel; or, sailing down the stream,

Are snatched immediate by the quick-eyed trout,

They meet their fate; or, weltering in the bowl,

With powerless wings around them wrapt, expire.

AUTUM N.

[LAVINIA: A MODERN RUTH.]

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends;

And Fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth;

For, in her helpless years deprived of all,
Of every stay, save innocence and heaven,
She, with her widowed mother, feeble, old,
And poor,
lived in a cottage, far retired
Among the windings of a woody vale;
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, concealed.
Together thus they shunned the cruel

scorn

Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would

meet

From giddy passion and low-minded pride:

wood glade

Some love to stray; there lodged, amused,

and fed,

In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make The meads their choice, and visit every flower,

And every latent herb: for the sweet task,

To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap,

In what soft beds, their young yet undisclosed,

Employs their tender care. Some to the house,

The fold, and dairy, hungry, bend their flight;

Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese:

Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream

Like the gay birds that sung them to re

pose,

Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. Her form was fresher than the morning

rose

When the dew wets its leaves; unstained

and pure,

As is the lily, or the mountain snow.
The modest 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 promised

once,

Thrilled in her thought, they, like the dewy

star

Of evening shone in tears. A native grace

limbs,

Veiled in a simple robe, their best attire, Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is, when unadorned, adorned the most. Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,

'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 ;

So flourished blooming, and unseen by all, The sweet Lavinia; till, at length, compelled

By strong Necessity's supreme command, With smiling patience in her looks she

went

lands,

And once fair-spreading family, dissolved. 'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat, Urged by remembrance sad, and decent pride,

Far from those scenes which knew their better days,

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, chanced 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 saw not half The charms her downcast modesty concealed.

That very moment love and chaste desire Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown; For still the world prevailed, and its dread laugh,

Which scarce the firm philosopher can

scorn,

Should his heart own a gleaner in the

field:

Romantic wish! would this the daughter were !'

When, strict inquiring, 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 smothered flame, avowed, and bold;

And as he viewed her, ardent, o'er and o'er,

Love, gratitude, and pity, wept at once. Confused and frightened at his sudden

tears,

Her rising beauties flushed a higher bloom, As thus Palemon, passionate and just, Poured out the pious rapture of his soul.

'And art thou, then, Acasto's dear remains?

sought,

So long in vain? Oh, heavens! the very

same,

The softened image of my noble friend, Alive his every look, his every feature, More elegantly touched. Sweeter than Spring!

Thou sole surviving blossom from the root That nourished up my fortune! Say, ah where,

In what sequestered 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? Oh! let me now into a richer soil Transplant thee safe, where vernal suns

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,
Though vast, were little to his ample heart,
The father of a country, thus to pick
The very refuse of those harvest-fields,

Of goodness irresistible, and all

In sweet disorder lost, she blushed 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 withered veins, and one bright gleam

Of setting life shone on her evening hours: Not less enraptured than the happy pair; Who flourished long in tender bliss, and

reared

A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,

And good, the grace of all the country round.

WINTER,

[AN EMBLEM OF THE END of life.] 'Tis done! dread WINTER spreads his latest glooms,

Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts

Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life?

All now are vanished! virtue sole survives, Immortal never-failing friend of man,

His guide to happiness on high. And see! 'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth

saw

A little part, deemed Evil is no more: The storms of wintry time will quickly

pass,

And one unbounded Spring incircle all.

[SNOWSTORM.]

The keener tempests come: and fuming dun

hears

The new-creating word, and starts to life, In every heightened form, from pain and death

For ever free. The great eternal scheme, Involving all, and in a perfect whole Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads. To reason's eye refined clears up apace. Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous!

now,

womb

A vapoury deluge lies, to snow congealed, Heavy they roll their fleecy world along; And the sky saddens with the gathered

storm.

Through the hushed air the whitening

shower descends,

At first thin wavering; till at last the

flakes

power,

the day,

cause,

Why unassuming worth in secret lived, And died, neglected: why the good man's

share

In life was gall and bitterness of soul: Why the lone widow and her orphans pined

In starving solitude; while Luxury,

In palaces, lay straining her low thought, To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth,

And moderation fair, wore the red marks Of superstition's scourge: why licensed pain,

That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, Imbittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed!

Ye noble few! who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while,