By this the stars began to wink,
They fhriek, they fly, the tapers fink,
And down ydrops the knight:
For never spell by fairie laid
With strong enchantment, bound a glade,
Beyond the length of night.
Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,
Till up the welkin rofe the day,
Then deem'd the dole was o'er:
But wot ye well his harder lot;
His feely back the bunch had got
Which Edwin loft afore.
This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;
She foftly ftroak'd my youngling head;
And, when the tale was done,
"Thus fome are born, my fon, fhe cries,
With bafe impediments, to rife,
And fome are born with none.
But virtue can itself advance
To what the fav'rite fools of chance
By Fortune feem'd design'd;
Virtue can gain the odds of fate,
And from itself fhake off the weight
Upon th' unworthy mind."
Mr. Thomson, though, in general, a verbose and affected poet, has told this ftory with unufual fimplicity: it is rather given here for being much efteemed by the public, than by the editor.
'HE lovely young Lavinia once had friends;
And Fortune fmil'd, deceitful, on her birth. For, in her helplefs 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 tomorrow's fare. Her form was fresher than the morning rofe,
When the dew wets its leaves: unftain'd, and pure,
As is the lilly, or the mountain fnow..
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 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 polish'd limbs,.
Veil'd in a fimple robe, their beft attire,
Beyond the pomp of drefs; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the moft..
Thoughtless of beauty, he was beauty's felf,
Reclufe amid the close-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 fweet 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 song
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 saw her charming, but he faw not half
The charms her down-caft modefty conceal'd.
That very moment love and chafte defire
Sprung in his bofom, to himself unknown ;
For ftill the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philofopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field :
And thus, in fecret, to his foul he figh'd.
"What pity! that so delicate a form,
By beauty kindled, where enlivening fenfe
And more than vulgar goodness feem 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 houses, lands,
And once fair-spreading 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 !"
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