This poem is held in just esteem, the verfification being chafte, and tolerably harmonious, and the ftory told with perfpicuity and concifenefs. It seems to have coft great labour, both to Mr. Pope, and Parnell himself, to bring it to this perfection. It may not be amifs to obferve, that the fable is taken from one of Dr. Henry Moore's Dialogues.
AR in a wild, unknown to public view,
F From youth to age a rev'rend Hermit grew ;
The mofs his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the cryftal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,
Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure, praise.
A life fo facred, fuch ferene repofe,
Seem'd heav'n itself, till one fuggestion rose
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey;
This fprung fome doubt of providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenour of his foul is loft:
So when a smooth expanfe receives, imprest,
Calm nature's image on its watry breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with anfw'ring colours glow:
But if a ftone the gentle fea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry fide,
And glimmering fragments of a broken fun,
Banks, feas, and skies, in thick diforder run.
To clear this doubt, to know the world by fight, To find if books, or fwains, report it right;
(For yet by fwains alone the world he knew,
Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew)
He quits his cell; the Pilgrim-staff he bore,
And fix'd the Scallop in his hat before;
Then with the fun a rifing journey went,
Sedate to think, and watching each event.
The morn was wafted in the pathless grass,
And long and lonesome was the wild to pass;
But when the fouthern fun had warm'd the day,
A youth came pofting o'er a croffing way;
His rayment decent, his complexion fair,
And foft in graceful ringlets way'd his hair.
Then, near approaching, Father, hail! he cry'd,
And hail, my Son, the rev'rend fire reply'd;
Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd,
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road;
"Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,
While in their rage they differ, join in heart:
Thus ftands an aged elm in ivy bound;
Thus youthful ivy clafps an elm around.
Now funk the fun; the clofing hour of day
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey;
Nature in filence bid the world repose;
When, near the road, a stately palace rose :
There, by the moon, thro' ranks of trees they país,
Whofe verdure crown'd their floping fides of grafs.
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome,
Still made his house the wand'ring ftranger's home:
Yet ftill the kindness, from a thirst of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expenfive eafe.
The pair arrive: the livery'd fervants wait;
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate,
The table groans with coftly piles of food,
And all is more than hofpitably good.
Then led to reft, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep funk in fleep, and filk, and heaps of down.
At length 'tis morn, and, at the dawn of day,
Along the wide canals the Zephyrs play;
Fresh o'er the gay parterre the breezes creep,
And shake the neighb'ring wood to banish fleep.
Up rife the guests, obedient to the call:
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall;
Rich, luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,
Which the kind mafter forc'd the guests to taste.
Then, pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go;
And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe;
His cup was vanifh'd; for, in fecret guife,
The younger guest purloin'd the glitt❜ring prize.
As one who spies a serpent in his way,
Glift'ning and basking in the fummer ray,
Disorder'd ftops to fhun the danger near,
Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear:
So feem'd the fire, when, far upon the road,
The fhining spoil his wily partner show'd.
He fopp'd with filence; walk'd with trembling heart, And much he wish'd, but durft not ask to part: Murm'ring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, That gen'rous actions meet a base reward.
While thus they pafs, the fun his glory fhrouds, The changing skies hang out their fable clouds; A found in air prefag'd approaching rain, And beafts to covert fcud across the plain. Warn'd by the figns the wand'ring pair retreat, To feek for shelter at a neighb'ring feat. 'Twas built with turrets, on a rifing ground, And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around; Its owner's temper tim❜rous and severe, Unkind and griping, caus'd a defart there.
As near the mifer's heavy doors they drew,' Fierce rifing gufts with fudden fury blew ; The nimble lightning, mix'd with fhow'rs, began, And o'er their heads loud rolling thunder ran. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, Driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. At length fome pity warm'd the master's breast, ('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a gueft) Slow, creaking, turns the door, with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the fhiv'ring pair;" One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And nature's fervour thro' their limbs recalls : Bread of the coarseft fort, with eager wine, (Each hardly granted) ferv'd them both to dine; And, when the tempest first appear'd to cease, A ready warning bid them part in peace.
With ftill remark the pond'ring Hermit view'd, In one so rich, a life fo poor and rude;
And why should fuch, within himself he cry'd,
Lock the loft wealth a thoufand want befide?
But what new marks of wonder foon took place
In ev'ry fettling feature of his face;
When from his veft the young companion bore
That cup, the gen'rous landlord own'd before,
And paid, profufely, with the precious bowl,
The ftinted kindnefs of his churlifh foul.
But now the clouds in airy tumult fly,
The fun emerging opes an azure sky;
A fresher green the fmelling leaves display,
And, glitt’ring as they tremble, chear the day:
The weather courts them from the poor retreat,
And the glad mafter bolts the wary gate.
While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bofom 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:
Detefting that, and pitying this, he goes,
Loft and confounded with the various fhows.
Now night's dim fhades again involve the sky,
Again the wand'rers want a place to lie,
Again they fearch, and find a lodging nigh.
The foil improv'd around, the manfion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great:
It feem'd to speak its mafter's turn of mind,
Content, and, not for praife, but virtue, kind.
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