By treach❜ry prompts the noify hound
To scent his footsteps on the ground?
Thou trait'refs vile! for this thy blood
Shall glut my rage, and dye the wood!
So faying, on the lamb he flies,
Beneath his jaws the victim dies.

THE

THE STORY OF LAVINIA.

By Mr. THOMSON.

OON as the morning trembles o'er the sky,
And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the spreading day ;
Before the ripened 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 floop, and fwell the lufty fheaves;
While thro' their chearful band the rural talk,
The rural fcandal, and the rural jeft,

Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time,
And steal unfelt the fultry hours away.

Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks ;
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 fpike, their fcanty harvest pick,
Be not too narrow, hufbandmen! but fling
From the full fheaf, with charitable ftealth,
The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest 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 heaven,

And ask their humble dole. The various turns

Of fortune ponder; that your fons

may want

What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give.
Lavinia once had friends;

The lovely young
And fortune fmil'd deceitful on her birth.
For, in her helpless 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 paffion and low-minded pride :
Almoft on nature's common bounty fed;

Like the gay birds that fung them to repose,
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 grace

Sat

Sat fair-proportion'd on her polifh'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 most.
Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's felf.
Reclufe amid the clofe-embowering woods,
As in the hollow breaft of Appenine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A myrtle rifes, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild;
So flourish'd blooming, and unseen 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 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
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 modesty conceal'd.
That very moment love and chafte defire
Sprung in his bosom, to himself 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 :
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 goodness seem to dwell, "Should be devoted to the rude embrace

"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 those scenes which knew their better days, "His aged widow and his daughter live,

"Whom yet my fruitlefs fearch could never find.
"Romantic wish! 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 transport ran?

Then