To clear this doubt, to know the world by siglt, To find if books, or swains, report it right; (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day There by the moon thro' ranks of trees they pass, Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home: At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, 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; He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, 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, With still remark the pond'ring hermit view'd When from his vest the young companion bore But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, 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, 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; |