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To clear this doubt, to know the world by siglit, To find if books, or swains, report it right; (For yet by swains 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 sun a rising journey went, Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; But when the southern wind had warm'd the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. Then near approaching, Father, hail! he cry'd; And hail, my son! the rev'rend sire 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 loath to part, While in their age they differ, join in heart; 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 grey;
Nature in silence bid the world repose ;
When near the road a stately palace rose:

There by the moon thro' ranks of trees they pass,
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass;
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home:
Yet still the kindness, from a thrift of praise,
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.
The pair arrive: the livery'd servants wait,
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.
The table groans with costly piles of food,
And all is more than hospitably good.
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown,
Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, 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 parterres the breezes creep,
And shake the neighb'ring 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 grac❜d,
Which the kind master 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 vanish'd, for in secret guise
The younger guest purloin'd the glitt'ring prize.

As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glist'ning 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

And much he wish'd, but durst 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 pass, the sun his glory shrouds, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; A sound in air presag'd approaching rain, And beasts to covert scud across the plain. Warn'd by the signs, the wand'ring pair retreat, To seek for shelter at a neighb'ring seat. "Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around; Its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe, Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. 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, Driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, ("Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest)

Slow creaking turn'd the door with jealous care,
And half he welcomes in the shiv'ring pair;
One frugal faggot lights the naked walls,
And nature's fervor thro' their limbs recalls;
Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine,
(Each hardly granted) serv'd 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 cry'd, Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? But what new marks of wonder soon took place, In ev'ry settling feature in his face!

When from his vest the young companion bore
That cup, the gen'rous landlord own'd before;
And paid profusely with the precious bowl
The stinted kindness of this churlish soul.

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, The sun emerging opes an azure sky; A fresher green the smelling leaves display, And glitt'ring 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 travails 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,
Again the wand'rers want a place to lie,
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh.
The soil improv❜d 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 for 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, from 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 hour of bed, When the grave houshold round his hall repair, Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with pray'r. At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose;

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