FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, A life so sacred, such serene repose, To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, To find if books, or swains, report it right, (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, Whose feet came wandering 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 sun a rising journey went, Sedate to think, and watching each event. The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And talk of various kind deceived the road; [* The great fault of this piece is, that it is in eightsyllable lines, very improper for the solemnity of the subject; otherwise the poem is natural, and the reflections just.-GOLDSMITH.] Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. 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 Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, Along the wide canals the zephyrs play: Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep, Up rise the guests, obedient to the call: An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go, And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe: His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glistening and basking in the summer ray, Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; So seem'd the sire, when far upon the road, The shining spoil his wily partner show'd. He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part: Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard That generous actions meet a base reward. 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, And strong, and large, and unimproved around; It owner's temper, timorous and severe, Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began, And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders 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, But now the clouds in airy tumult fly; The sun emerging ope's an azure sky; A fresher green the smelling leaves display, And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: The weather courts them from the poor retreat, And the glad master bolts the wary gate. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought With all the travel of uncertain thought: Now night's dim shades again involve the sky, Again the wanderers want a place to lie, Again they search, and find a lodging nigh. The soil improved around, the mansion neat, And neither poorly low nor idly great: It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, Content, and not to praise, but virtue, kind. Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, Then bless the mansion, and the master greet: 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 of virtue till the time of bed, When the grave household round his hall repair, Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, Was strong for toil; the dappled morn arose; Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept Near the closed cradle where an infant slept, And writhed his neck: the landlord's little pride (O strange return!) grew black, and gasp'd, and died. Horrors of horrors! what, his only son! Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, He flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed. His steps the youth pursues; the country lay Perplex'd with roads; a servant show'd the way: A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er Was nice to find; the servant trod before; Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in; Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes; He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, Detested wretch!-But scarce his speech began, When the strange partner seem'd no longer man: His youthful face grew more serenely sweet; His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. The form etherial burst upon his sight, And moves in all the majesty of light. Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do; Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, And in a calm his settling temper ends. But silence here the beauteous angel broke (The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke.) Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In sweet memorial rise before the throne: These charms success in our bright region find, And force an angel down to calm thy mind; For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky; Nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow-servant I. Then know the truth of government divine, And let these scruples be no longer thine. The Maker justly claims that world he made, In this the right of Providence is laid; Its sacred majesty through all depends On using second means to work his ends: "Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The Power exerts his attributes on high; Your actions uses, nor controls your will, And bids the doubting sons of men be still. What strange events can strike with more surprise, Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty just, And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust! The great, vain man, who fared on costly food, Whose life was too luxurious to be good Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But God, to save the father, took the son. But now had all his fortune felt a wrack, On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. Thus look'd Elisha when, to mount on high, His master took the chariot of the sky; The fiery pomp ascending, left to view ; The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. The bending hermit here a prayer begun, "Lord! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done!" Then, gladly turning, sought his ancient place, And pass'd a life of piety and peace. PIETY, OR THE VISION. "TWAS when the night in silent sable fled, Straight as I gazed, my fear and wonder grew, Fann'd the soft air, and downward seem'd to glide, "Where glorious mansions are prepared above, Mine is a warm, and yet a lambent heat, And ever mounting whence it shot beneath. "But urge thy powers, thine utmost voice advance, Make the loud strings against thy fingers dance: I'll bathe my tresses there, my prayers rehearse, And glide in flames of love along my verse. "Ah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell, My raptures smother what I long to tell. "Tis God! a present God! through cleaving air I see the throne, and see the Jesus there Placed on the right. He shows the wounds he bore (My fervours oft have won him thus before): How pleased he looks, my words have reach'd his He bids the gates unbar, and calls me near." [ear; The cloud on which she seem'd to She ceased. tread Its curls unfolded, and around her spread; My downy sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke, But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame, I take for truth the flatteries of a dream; And barely wish the wondrous gift I boast, And faintly practise what deserves it most. Indulgent Lord! whose gracious love displays Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease! Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss; Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this. HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. LOVELY, lasting peace of mind Sweet delight of human kind! Heavenly born, and bred on high, To crown the favourites of the sky With more of happiness below Than victors in a triumph know! Whither, O whither art thou fled, To lay thy meek contented head; What happy region dost thou please To make the seat of calms and ease! Ambition searches all its sphere Of pomp and state to meet thee there. Increasing avarice would find Thy presence in its gold enshrined. The bold adventurer ploughs his way Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, To gain thy love; and then perceives Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. The silent heart, which grief assails, To range the circuit of the sky, Lovely, lasting peace, appear, This world itself, if thou art here, Is once again with Eden blest, And man contains it in his breast. "Twas thus, as under shade I stood, I sung my wishes to the wood, And, lost in thought, no more perceived The branches whisper as they waved: It seem'd as all the quiet place Confess'd the presence of his grace. When thus she spoke-Go rule thy will, Bid thy wild passions all be still, Know God-and bring thy heart to know The joys which from religion flow: Then every grace shall prove its guest, And I'll be there to crown the rest. Oh! by yonder mossy seat, In my hours of sweet retreat, Might I thus my soul employ, With sense of gratitude and joy; Raised as ancient prophets were, In heavenly vision, praise and prayer, Pleasing all men, hurting none, Pleased and bless'd with God alone: Then while the gardens take my sight, With all the colours of delight; While silver waters glide along, To please my ear, and court my song; I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, And thee, great Source of nature, sing. The sun that walks his airy way, Should be sung, and sung by me: Go search among your idle dreams, Your busy or your vain extremes; And find a life of equal bliss, Or own the next begun in this. NICHOLAS ROWE. [Born, 1673. Died, 1718.] ROWE was entered of the Middle Temple at sixteen, but, forsaking the law, commenced his dramatic career at the age of twenty-five. On the accession of George I. he was made poet laureate and land-surveyor of the customs in the port of London. FROM THE "FAIR PENITENT.” Lucilla conjuring Calista to conquer her passion for Cal. Be dumb for ever, silent as the grave, Luc. Why do you follow still that wandering fire, That false Lothario? Turn from the deceiver; Cal. There I fain would hide me Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose; And drown the voice of law, in noise and anarchy. Cal. It is Sciolto! Be thyself, my soul; From the base world, from malice, and from shame; In the forlorn Calista. For 'tis the solemn counsel of my soul Luc. Can you perceive the manifest destruction, My trembling heart forebodes, let me intreat you Sci. Thou wert once My daughter. Cal. Happy were it had I died, Sci. That's something yet; I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee, Why didst thou turn to folly, then, and curse me? |