HARVEST.

By nameless gentle offices her toil.

At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves;
While through their cheerful band the rural talk,
The rural scandal, and the rural jest,

Fly harmless to deceive the tedious time,
And steal unfelt the sultry hours away.

Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks;
And, conscious, glancing oft on every side
His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.
The gleaners spread around, and here and there,
Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling
From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth,
The liberal handful. Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the GOD of harvest is to you,
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields;
While these unhappy partners of your kind
Wide hover round you like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole. The various turns
Of fortune ponder,-that your sons may want
What now, with hard reluctance, faint ye give.

Abe Laplander.

IDE o'er the spacious regions of the North,
That sees Boötes urge his tardy wain,

A boisterous race, by frosty Caurus pierced, Who little pleasure know, and fear no pain,

Prolific swarm.

They once relumed the flame
Of lost mankind in polished slavery sunk,
Drove martial horde on horde, with dreadful sweep
Resistless rushing o'er th' enfeebled South,
And gave the vanquished world another form.
Not such the sons of Lapland: wisely they
Despise th' insensate barbarous trade of war;
They ask no more than simple nature gives,
They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms.
No false desires, no pride-created wants,
Disturb the peaceful current of their time,
And through the restless ever-tortured maze

Of pleasure or ambition, bid it rage.

Their reindeer form their riches. These their tents,
Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth
Supply, their wholesome fare and cheerful cups.
Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe.

Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift
O'er hill and dale, heaped into one expanse
Of marbled snow, as far as eye can sweep,
With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed.
By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake
A waving blaze refracted o'er the heavens,
And vivid moons, and stars that keener play
With doubled lustre from the glossy waste,
Ev'n in the depth of Polar night, they find
A wondrous day: enough to light the chase,
Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs.