Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/167

Confus'd, and frightened 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?— 265
She, whom my restless gratitude has sought,
So long in vain? oh heavens! the very same,
The soften'd image of my noble friend,
Alive, his every feature, every look,
More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring! 270
Thou sole surviving blossom from the root,
That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where,
In what sequester'd desart, hast thou drawn
The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven?
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair; 275
Th o' 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; 280
And of my garden be the pride, and joy!
It ill befits thee, oh it ill befits
Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores,
Tho' vast, were little to his ampler heart,
The father of a country, thus to pick 285
The very refuse of those harvest-fields,
Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy.
Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,
But ill apply'd to such a rugged task;
The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine; 290
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!"

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