"Of noon, flies harmless: and that very voice, In the poem on autumn, he introduces a profpect of the fields ready for harvest, with fome reflections in praise of industry, which are naturally excited by that scene. We are then presented with a defcription of reapers in a field, and with a tale relative to it which we fhall infert. This is followed by a description of an harvest storm, and of hunting and fhooting, with fuitable reflections on the barbarity of thofe paftimes. After which he gives us a defcription of an orchard, wall-fruit, and a vineyard; defcants on the fogs, that fo frequently prevail in the latter part of autumn, and by a beautiful and philofophical digreffion, endeavours to inveftigate the caufe of fprings and rivers. He then confiders the birds of feason, that now change their habitation, and speaks of the prodigious number that cover the western and northern ifles of Scotland. This na. turally leads him to defcribe that country. We are then entertained with a profpect of woods that are fading and difcoloured, of moon-light after a gentle dufky day, and of autumnal meteors. The morning fucceeds, which ufhers in a calm fun-fhiny day, fuch as ufually close this season. He then describes the country people at the end of harvest, giving loose to pleasure and diffolv'd in joy, and concludes with a panegyric on a philofophical country life. The following pleafing and pathetick tale, which is naturally introduced in his defcription of the reapers, is, if I take not, borrowed from the ftory of RUTH in the Old ment. Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, At once they stoop and fwell the lufty fheaves; Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want The lovely young LAVINIA once had friends; 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 scorn Which virtue, funk to poverty, would meet From giddy paffion and low-minded pride: Almost 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 rofe, When the dew wets its leaves; unftain'd, and pure, With fmiling patience in her looks, she went ; And thus in fecret to his foul he figh❜d. "Of fome indecent clown! She looks, methinks, ""Tis faid that in fome lone obfcure retreat, 66 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 fruitless fearch could never find. "Romantic with! Would this the daughter were !" When, ftrict enquiring, from herself he found She was the fame, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful ACASTO; who can speak The mingled paffions that furpriz'd his heart, And thro' his nerves in fhivering 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 frightned at his fudden tears, Her rifing beauties flufh'd a higher bloom, As thus PALEMON, paffionate, and just, Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul. "And art thou then ACASTO's dear remains? "She, whom my reftlefs gratitude has fought, "So long in vain ? O heav'ns! the very fame "The foften'd image of my noble friend, "Alive his very look, his every feature, "More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than fpring! "Thou fole furviving bloffom from the root "That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where, "In what fequefter'd defart, haft thou drawn "The kindeft afpect of delighted HEAVEN? "Into fuch beauty fpread, 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 safe! where vernal funs, and showers, "Diffuse their warmeft, largest influence; "And of my garden be the pride, and joy! “Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits "The fields, the mafter, all, my fair, are thine; In fweet diforder loft, fhe blufh'd confent. In his poem on Winter, he defcibes the approach of that feafon, and the various ftorms of rain, wind and snow that ufually fucceed; which is followed by a landscape, or view, of the fnow driven into mountains, and a pathetic tale of a husbandman bewilder'd and loft near his own home; which naturally introduces reflections on the wants and miseries of mankind. He then speaks of the wolves defcending from the Alps and Apennines, and describes a winter Evening, as fpent by philofophers, by the country people, and by those in London. He then prefents us with a froft, with a view |