Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise,
The courteous master hears, and thus replies:
Without a vain, without a grudging heart,
To him who gives us all, I yield a part;
From him you come, for him accept it here,
A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.
He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread,
Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed,
When the grave houfhold round his hall repair,
Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with pray'r.
At length the world renew'd by calm repofe
Was ftrong for toil, the dappled morn arose;
Before the Pilgrim's part, the younger crept,
Near the clos'd cradle where an infant flept.
And writh'd his neck: the Landlord's little pride,
O ftrange return! grew black, and gasp’d, and dy’d.
Horror of horrors! what! his only fon!

How look'd our Hermit when the fact was done ?
Not hell, tho' hell's black jaws in funder part,
And breathe blue fire, cou'd more assault his heart.
Confus'd,

Confus'd, and ftruck with filence at the deed, He flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed. His steps the Youth purfues; the country lay Perplex'd with roads, a fervant show'd the way: A river cross'd the path; the paffage o'er Was nice to find; the fervant rode before; Long arms of oaks an open bridge fupply'd, And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. The Youth, who feem'd to watch a time to fin, Approach'd the careless Guide, and thrust him in ; Plunging he falls, and rifing lifts his head,

Then flashing turns, and finks among the dead.

Wild, fparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, He burfts the bands of fear, and madly cries, Detefted wretch-But fcarce his fpeech began, When the strange partner feem'd no longer man: His youthful face grew more ferenely fwect; His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; Celestial odours breathe thro' purpled air;

And wings, whofe colours glitter'd on the day, Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.

The form etherial bursts upon his fight,

And moves in all the majefty of light.

Tho' loud at first the Pilgrim's paffion grew,
Sudden he gaz'd, and wift not what to do;
Surprize in secret chains his words fufpends,
And in a calm his fettling temper ends.
But filence here the beauteous Angel broke,
(The voice of mufic ravifh'd as he spoke.)

Thy pray'r, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In fweet memorial rife before the throne:

These charms, fuccefs in our bright region find,
And force an Angel down, to calm thy mind;
For this commiffion'd, I forfook the sky,
Nay, ceafe to kneel-Thy fellow-fervant I.
Then know the truth of government divine,
And let thefe fcruples be no longer thine.

The Maker juftly claims that world he made, In this the right of providence is laid;

Its Sacred majesty thro' all depends

On ufing second means to work his ends :

'Tis thus, withdrawn in ftate from human eye,
The Pow'r exerts his attributes on high,

Your actions uses, nor controuls your will,
And bids the doubting fons of men be still.

What ftrange events can strike with more furprize,
Than those which lately ftruck thy wond'ring eyes?
Yet taught by thefe, confefs th' Almighty juft,
And where you can't unriddle, learn to truft!

The great, vain man, who far'd on costly food, Whofe life was too luxurious to be good;

Who made his iv'ry stands with goblets shine,
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine,

Has, with the cup, the graceless custom loft,

And ftill he welcomes, but with lefs of coft.

The mean, fufpicious Wretch, whofe bolted door,

Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wand'ring Poor;

With him I left the cup, to teach his mind

That heav'n can blefs, if mortals will be kind.

Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,

And feels compaffion touch his grateful foul.

Thus artifts melt the fullen oar of lead,

With heaping coals of fire upon its head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And loose from drofs, the filver runs below.

Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,
But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God;
(Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,
And meafur'd back his steps to earth again.
To what exceffes had his dotage run?

But God, to fave the father, took the fon.
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow)
The poor fond parent, humbled in the duft,
Now owns in tears the punishment was juft.

But now had all his fortune felt a wrack,

Had that false fervant sped in safety back?
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal,

And what a fund of charity would fail !

Thus