Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, A Youth came posting o'er a crossing way; His rayment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. Then near approaching," Father, hail!" he cried; And—“ Hail, my Son," the reverend sire replied; Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And talk of various kind deceived the road; Till each with other pleased, and loath to part, Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray; Nature in silence bid the world repose; When near the road a stately palace rose : There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. It chanced, the noble master of the dome Still made his house the wandering stranger's home: Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. t; The pair arrive: the liveried servants wait Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, At length 'tis morn; and at the dawn of day, And shake the neighbouring wood, to banish sleep. Up rise the guests, obedient to the call: Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. As one who spies a serpent in his way, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds: A sound in air presaged approaching rain, And beasts to covert, scud across the plain. Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat: 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, As near the Miser's heavy doors they drew, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; The nimble light'ning, mix'd with show'rs, began, And o'er their heads, loud-rolling thunder ran. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, ('Twas then his threshold first received a guest,) Slow creeking turns the door, with jealous care, And half he welcomes in, the shivering pair ; One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And nature's fervour, through their limbs recalls : Bread of the coarsest sort, with meager wine, Each hardly granted, served them both to dine; And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, A ready warning bid them part in peace. With still remark, the pond'ring Hermit view'd, In one so rich, a life so poor and rude ; And why should such, within himself he cried, Lock the lost wealth, a thousand want beside? But what new marks of wonder soon took place, When from his vest, the That cup, the generous young companion bore And paid profusely with the precious bowl, But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, While hence they walk, the Pilgrim's bosom wrought With all the travail of uncertain thought; His partner's acts, without their cause, appear, 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here: Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, Lost and confounded with the various shows. Now night's dim shades again involve the sky, The soil improved around, the mansion neat, |