Call'd the attends, affifts with artless grace,
The bloom of nature flufhing on her face,
That fcorns the die, which pallid pride can lend,
And all the arts which luxury attend.

With fuel laden from the brambly rock,
Lo! forward comes the father of his flock,
Of honeft front:-falutes with ruftick gait,
Remarks our fare, and boasts his former ftate,
When many a cow, nor long the time remov'd,
And many a calf his fpacious pasture rov'd,
'Till rifing rents reduc'd them now to three,
Abridg'd his farm, and fix'd him as we fee:
Yet thanks his God, what fails him in his wealth
He feeks from labour, and he gains from health:
Then talks of fport; how many wild-ducks feen!
What flocks of widgeons too had fledg'd the green.

While thus amus'd, and gladden'd with our lot,
The hafty ev'ning calls us from the cot;
A fmall gratuity dilates their heart,

And many a bleffing follows as we part.
Nor you, ye proud! disdain their state to hear,
The ftate of nature crowns their frugal cheer;
Tranfmitted pure from Patriarchal times,
By art unfashion'd to corruption's climes-
To you unknown their labours and their race,
Alike unknown their innocence and peace;
Secure from danger, as remov'd from fame,
Their lives calm current flows without a name.
Now had the twilight, veil'd in gloomy gray,
Mourn'd the departure of retiring day,

A

A darker hue the face of nature wears,
And fcarce diftinct the diftant town appears-
Back to our mind, in fwift fucceffion throng
(To cheat the time and fteal the road along)
The various fports of all the fummer paft,
When ling'ring long-vacation came at laft;
Imagination fondly fports to tell,

How

many groufe, how many partridge fell.
The rising moon, with delegated fway,
Supplies the radiance of the diftant day,
Reveals the various objects that we meet,
And all the bufy tumults of the street-
With head-long pace the vagrant hawker fcours,
And bloody news from lungs horrific pours
The dull, difcordant ballad-notes annoy,

That mock the crowd, with love's fantastic joy;
The cumb'rous coach, with blazon'd pomp that shews,
Where pamper'd pride and indolence repofe;
While close behind, the fhiv'ring female strays,
Parted from virtue, innocence and ease—
She once the darling of her mother's arms,
Her father's pride, and bleft with blooming charms,
Thro' all the village known for spotlefs fame,
Fair was her beauty, fairer ftill her name;
'Till the fly tempter urg'd infiduous fuit,
And lur'd her weakness to forbidden fruit;
There perish'd grace, her guardian honor fled,
And fad remembrance mourns each bleffing-dead!
Expell'd the paradife of native fway,

She wanders now to ev'ry vice a prey

A

A prey to yonder terror of the night,
(Avert, ye Gods! fuch monfters from my fight!)
The bully dire: whose front the furies fwell,
And fcars difhoneft mark the fon of hell-

In vain

the fhrinks to fhun his lucklefs pace, Aw'd by the terrors of his vengeful face;

Heav'n! how unlike the pure, the tranquil fcene, Where rural mirth, and rural manners reign; Where fimple cheer difclaims the cares of wealth, And fresh'ning gales diffuse the glow of health.

A Sketch of EDWIN, from the MINSTREL. AND yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy; Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye. Dainties he headed not, nor gaude, nor toy, Save one short pipe of rudeft minstrelfy. Silent when glad; affectionate, though fhy; And now his look was most demurely fad, And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why. The neighbours ftar'd and figh'd, yet blefs'd the lad: Some deem'd him wondrous wife, and some believ'd' him mad.`

1

Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.
His heart from cruel fport estranged, would bleed
To work the woe of any living thing,

By trap, or net; by arrow, or by fling;
Thefe he detefted, thofe he fcorn'd to wield:
He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king,
Tyrant far lefs, or traitor of the field.

And fure the fylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.

THE

N Ruffia's frozen clime, fome ages fince, There dwelt, hiftorians fay, a worthy prince, Who to his people's good confin'd his care, And fix'd the bafis of his empire there; Inlarg'd their trade, the lib'ral arts improv❜d, Made nations happy, and himself belov'd; To all the neighb'ring ftates a terror grown, The dear delight, and glory of his own. Not like those kings who vainly feek renown From countries ruin'd, and from battles won; Those mighty Nimrods, who mean laws defpife, . Call murder but a princely exercife,

And

And if one bloodlefs fun fhould steal away, Cry out with Titus, they have loft a day; Who, to be more than men, themselves debafe Beneath the brute, their Maker's form deface, Raifing their titles by their God's difgrace. Like fame to bold Eroftratus we give, Who fcorn'd by lefs than facrilege to live; On holy ruins rais'd a lafting name, And in the temple's fire diffus'd his shame. Far diff'rent praises, and a brighter fame, The virtues of the young Porfenna claim; For by that name the Ruffian king was known, 'And fure a nobler ne'er adorn'd the throne. In war he knew the deathful sword to wield, And fought the thickeft dangers of the field. A bold commander; but, the ftorm o'erblown, He feem'd as he were made for peace alone; Then was the golden age again reftor'd, Nor lefs his justice honour'd than his fword. All needless pomp and outward grandeur spar'd, The deeds that grac'd him were his only guard No private views beneath a borrow'd name; His and the public int'reft were the fame. In wealth and pleasure let the fubject live, But virtue is the king's prerogative; Porfenna there without a rival stood, And wou'd maintain his right of doing good. Nor did his person lefs attraction wear, Such majefty and sweetness mingled there Heav'n with uncommon art the clay refin'd, A proper mansion for fo fair a mind;

;

Each