When, ftrict enquiring, from herself he found
She was the fame, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful Acafto: who can speak
The mingled paflions that furpris'd his heart,
And thro' his nerves in fhiv'ring transport ran?
Then blaz'd his fmother'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.
Confus'd, and frighten'd at his fudden tears,
Her rifing beauties flush'd a higher bloom,
As thus Palemon, paffionate, and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his foul.
"And art thou, then, Acafto's dear remains
She, whom my reftlefs gratitude has fought
So long in vain? O heavens! the very same,
The foftened image of my noble friend
Alive, his every look, his every feature,
More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring!
Thou fole furviving blossom from the root
That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where,
In what fequefter'd defart, haft thou drawn
The kindeft aspect of delighted Heaven?
Into fuch beauty spread, and blown so fair;
Tho' Poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain,
Beat keen, and heavy, on thy tender years?
O let me, now, into a richer foil
Tranfplant thee fafe; where vernal funs, and fhowers, Diffuse their warmeft, largest influence;
And of my garden be the pride, and joy!
Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits
Acafto's daughter, his whofe open stores,
Tho' vaft, 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 fhameful pittance from thy hand,
But ill apply'd to fuch a rugged tafk;
The fields, the mafter, all, my fair, are thine;
If to the various bleffings which thý houfe
Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that blifs,
That dearest blifs, the power of blessing thee!"
Here ceas'd the youth: yet ftill his speaking eye
Express'd the facred triumph of his foul,
With confcious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irrefiftible, and all
In sweet disorder loft, she blush'd confent.
The news immediate to her mother brought,
While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she pin'd away
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate;
Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy feiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening-hours:
Not lefs enraptur'd than the happy pair ;
Who flourish'd long in tender blifs, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.
Almost all things written from the heart, as this certainly was, have fome merit. The poet here describes forrows and misfortunes which were by no means imaginary; and, thus, there runs a truth of thinking through this poem, without which it would be of little value, as Savage is, in other refpects, but an indifferent poet.
'N gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,
The mufe, exulting, thus her lay began: Bleft be the Baftard's birth! thro' wond'rous ways He fhines, eccentric, like a comet's blaze; No fickly fruit of faint compliance he! He! ftampt in Nature's mint of Extacy! He lives to build, not boast a generous race: No tenth tranfmitter of a foolish face. His daring hope no fire's example bounds: His first-born lights no prejudice confounds. He, kindling from within, requires no flame : He glories in a baftard's glowing name. Born to himself, by no poffeffion led,
In Freedom fofter'd, and by Fortune fed;
Nor guides, nor rules, his fov'reign choice controul, His body independent, as his foul.
Loos'd to the world's wide range,-enjoin'd no aim;
Prefcrib'd no duty, and affign'd no name:
Nature's unbounded son, he stands alone,
His heart unbiafs'd, and his mind his own.
O Mother, yet no Mother-'tis to you,
My thanks for fuch diftinguish'd claims are due.
You, unenflav'd to Nature's narrow laws,
Warm championefs for Freedom's facred cause,
From all the dry devoirs of blood and line,
From ties maternal, moral, and divine,
Discharg'd my grasping foul; push'd me from shore,
And launch'd me into life without an oar..
What had I loft, if, conjugally kind,
By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd,
Untaught the matrimonial bounds to flight,
And coldly conscious of a husband's right,
You had faint-drawn me with a form alone,
A lawful lump of life, by force your own!
Then, while your backward will retrench'd defire,
And unconcurring fpirits lent no fire,
I had been born your dull, domestic heir;
Load of your life, and motive of your care;
Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great;
The flave of pomp, a cypher in the state;
Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown,
And flumbering in a feat, by chance my own.
Far nobler bleffings wait the bastard's lot;
Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot!
Strong as neceffity, he ftarts away,.
Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day.
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