Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, A myrtle rises, 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 strong Necessity's supreme command, With smiling patience in her looks, she went To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains 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 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 down-cast modesty conceal'd. That very moment love and chaste desire Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown: For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh, Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn, Should his heart own a gleaner in the field; And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd :- "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; Now to the dust gone down; his houses, 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, His aged widow and his daughter live,
Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. 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 smother'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. Confused, and frighten'd at his sudden tears, Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom, As thus Palemon, passionate and just, Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul;
"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 every look, his every 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 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 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 shameful pittance from thy hand, But ill applied 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 power of blessing thee!" Here ceased 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 raised. Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm Of goodness irresistible, and all
In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent. The news immediate to her mother brought, While, pierced with anxious thought, she pined
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate;
Amazed, and scarce believing what she heard, Joy seized her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam Of setting life shone on her evening-hours: Not less enraptured than the happy pair; Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves, And good, the grace of all the country round. Defeating oft the labours of the year,
« السابقةمتابعة » |