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While these unhappy partners of your kind
The lovely young Lavinia once had friends,
poor, liv'd in a cottage far retir'd
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; unstain'd 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 bcams into the blooming flowers:
Or when the mournful tale her mother told,
Amusing, chanc'd beside his reaper train
moment love and chaste desire
“ What pity! that so delicate a form,
By beauty kindled, where enliv’ning sense “ And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell, os 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 lib'ral fortune took its rise; “ Now to the dust gone down; his houses, lands, " And once fair-spreading family dissoly'd. « 'Tis said, that in some lone obscure retreat, " Urg'd by remembrance sad, and decent pride, " Far from those scenes which knew their better
“ His aged widow and his daughter live,
Whom yet my fsuitless search could never find. “ Romantic wish! would this his 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 surpriz'd his heart, And through his nerves in shiv'ring transports ran? Then blazd his smother'd flame, avow'd, and
And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,
“ 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 ev'ry look, his ev'ry 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, where vernal suns and
" show'rs “ Diffuse their warmest, largest influence; “ And of my garden be the pride and joy! “ Ill it bests thee, O it ill befits " Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores, “ Tho' 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 shamesul pittance from thy hand " But ill apply'd 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 pow'r of blessing thee!"
Here ceas'd 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 rais’d. Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm Of goodness irresistible, and all In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent.