THE HERMIT. BY THOMAS PARNELL.-1679-1717. [THOMAS PARNELL was born in Dublin, in 1679, and was educated at Trinity College in that city. He took orders, and, in 1705, was promoted to the archdeaconry of Clogher. He obtained also a prebend in the cathedral of St. Patrick, and, through the interest of Swift, the vicarage of Finglass. Like Swift, he disliked Ireland, though, from circumstances, he was obliged to reside a good deal in it. His wife, an accomplished and beautiful woman, died soon after his marriage; and her death so preyed on his mind, which was never well balanced, that he fell into intemperance. He died in 1717. Parnell was an excellent scholar, and a most pleasing companion. The following is his best piece.] AR in a wild, unknown to public view, FAR From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; A life so sacred, such serene repose, So, when a smooth expanse receives impress'd Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, But, when the southern sun had warm'd the day, Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides with grass. It chanced the noble master of the dome Still made his house the wandering stranger's home; Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. The pair arrive; the liveried 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 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 glitt'ring prize. As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glistening and basking in the summer ray, Disordered stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; So seemed 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; Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. As near the miser's heavy door they drew, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; The nimble lightning, mix'd with showers, began, The weather courts them from their poor retreat, And the glad master bolts the weary gate. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought His partner's acts without their cause appear; |