2.60 
again; and, in a new edition of his Effay, 
he has {poken of him with more propriety 
and juftice. 
‘¢ He read fome of my poems, and faid 
fome very flattering things, particularly 
of the eulogiums I had written on the king 
of Pruflia, Galileo, and Newton. He 
continued to declaim againft fuperftition, 
the inquifition, the court of Rome, the 
monkifh ordérs, &c. and repeated what 
cardinal Paffionei faid to a traveller, ¢¢ It 25 
miraculous that the Church has loft nothing 
this year.” 
«< T one day went to dine with him, at 
his new feat at Ferney. After dinner, 
Original Poetry, 
f April. F x 
he faid,—‘‘ I have eaten too much; I thall 
not live to inhabit my new purchafe. But 
we muft enjoy life. I am inclined to gor- 
mandize, and fo was Horace; irahit fua 
quemque oluptas. The child muft be 
rocked till it falls afleep.” 
** You perceive he belonged to the Epi- 
curean tribe ; though in fome refpeéts he 
was a Diogenes. His wifh was to be 
fometimes Socrates, at others Ariftippus. 
One day, he would tay he was dying; the 
next, that he was indebted to Tronchin 
for life and health, though in the fame 
breath he would ridicule phyfic and the 
phyfician. 
by Mrs. Robinfon. 

ORIGINAL POETRY. 

THE ITALIAN PEASANTRY. 
From an unpublifhed Posm, by Mrs. Ropinson. 
“IME was, and mem’ry fickens to retrace - 
The tablet fraught with wrongs, when 
eafons roll”d 
O’er the {mall hut of lowly induftry 
Indim fuccefiion of eternai gloom ; 
Though rofy morn upon the eaftern cliff 
Burft wide her filver gates, and fcatter’d round 
A bright ethereal fhow’r! When nature’s 
breaft 
Unveil’d its fragrance, and its gloomy tints, 
Spangl’d by twilight’s tears, to weary eyes, 
Unblefs’d with {weet repofe ! Poor, toil-worn 
race ! 
The hardy bloffoms of a fervid foil ;— 
What wastheir haplefs lot? To figh, to pant, 
To fcorch and faint, while from the cloudlefs 
Sie : 
The noon-tide beam fhot downward. 
their hands 
The burning ploughfhare thro’ the Tufcan 
glebe i 
Purfued its fultry way: The fmoking plains, 
Refreth’d by tepid fhow’rs, receiv’d the pledge 
Of future luxury. The tangling vine, 
Nurs’d by their toil, grew fibrous: the brown 
rind, : 
Dried by the parching gale, wove clofe and 
firm, 
Guarded the rich and ne&t’rous diftillation. 
The tendrils twin’d, to ev’ry point minute 
The od’rous bev’rage ftole, till the fwoln 
fruit, 
Empurpled by the fun, the labourers preft 
To yield its lufcious burthen. Yet, for THEM 
Did-fummer gildthe plain ? Didautumn glow? 
Did auftral breezes fan the tepid fhow’r, 
Scarce whifp’ring as, it fell? Did the day’s 
toil 
Enfure the night’s repofe ?--fweet recompence, 
That well befits the PEasant’s guiltlels 
toil! 
By 
Could ruzy, when down the crimfon 
plains of light ’ 
The lord of day retir’'d, when ev’ry bird, 
The plumy trav’ller of unbounded fpace, 
Claim’d the fhort hour of reft, could zra- 
BowR’s fons 
Shake from their freckled brows the ev’ning 
dew, 
And homeward; blithefomely, return to quaff 
The honey’d cup of joy? Could rHey fui- 
pire 
Health’s breezy hour; on THEIR own cul- 
tur’d plains 7 
Reap the full harveft, pen their fleecy ftore 5 
Or, as the night-mift gather'd o’er the heath, 
Call home their wand’ring herds?~O! juf- 
 fPring CaRLE! 
When the rich vintage heap’d the lordly 
board, f 
Moiftén’d the feafted lip, or flafhing foam’d 
Within its cryftal prifon, amber-dyed ; : 
When neétar, thrice diftill’d by burning gales, 
Sated the palate of the pamper’d fool ; 
What were THy poor rewards ?>—A niggard 
boon! 
Dealt out with freezing fcorn, or brutal pride; 
A rufhy pillow, and amountain hut, 
Whofe fides of clay, and. tempeft-fhatter’d 
roof, 
Scarce {creen’d thy bofom from the wint’ry 
blaft 5 
(The very Docs of Prtncrs warmer houfed!) 
While the long hour, *till morning’s dawn, 
fiole on 
In fullen fadnefs, or in fruitlefs pray’r ! 
Turn to the marble Raraces of PripE, 
The velvet hangings and the golden fhows, 
That made their tables groan! Behold their, ~ 
feafts er: 
Of lufcious fruits, and blood-inflaming fpice; 
Their oily fyrups of ambrofial flow’rs, 
Conferves, thrice effenc’d in Phenician dews, 
Fit for the fick’ning palate of the wretch 
By - 
