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 travail of uncertain thought;

His partner's acts without their cause appear,
'Twas there a vice, and seemed 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 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 seemed 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, bestowed 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 talked of virtue till the time of bed,
When the grave household round his hall repair,
Warned by a bell, and close the hours with prayer.

At length the world, renewed 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 gasped, and died.
Horror of horrors! what! his only son!

How looked our hermit when the fact was done? Not Hell, though Hell's black jaws in sunder part, And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart!

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 Perplexed with roads, a servant showed the way : A river crossed 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 seemed to watch a time to sin, Approached 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 seemed no longer man : His youthful face grew more serenely sweet; His robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet; Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; Celestial odors breathe through purpled air; And wings, whose colors glittered on the day, Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. The form ethereal bursts 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 ravished 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, commissioned, 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 the 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,
And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine,
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost,
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.

"The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door
Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor;
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind
That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind.
Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead,
With heaping coals of fire upon his head;
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,
And loose from dross the silver runs below.

‘Long had our pious friend in virtue trod,

But now the child half-weaned his heart from God;
(Child of his age) for him he lived in pain,
And measured back his steps to Earth again.

To what excesses had his dotage run?
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seemed to go,
(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow ;)
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

But how had all his fortune felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back!

This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail !

Thus heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,
The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew.
Thus looked 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 wished 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 passed a life of piety and peace.

THOMAS PARNELL.

L

On the Spring.

AN ODE.

O! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear,

Disclose the long expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Responsive to the cuckoo's note,

The untaught harmony of Spring;
While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Cool zephyrs, through the clear blue sky,
Their gathered fragrance fling.

Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader, browner shade,

Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'ercanopies the glade,

Beside some water's rushing brink

With me the muse shall sit and think

(At ease reclined, in rustic state,) How vain the ardor of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great!

Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose;

Yet hark, how through the peopled air,
The busy murmur glows!

The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,

And float amid the liquid noon;
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gaily-gilded trim,
Quick-glancing to the sun.

To contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of man;
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.

Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter through life's little day,

In fortune's varying colors dressed:
Brushed by the hand of rough mischance,
Or chilled by age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply :

Poor moralist! and what art thou?
A solitary fly!

Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display :
On hasty wings thy youth is flown ;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone—
We frolic while 'tis May.

THOMAS GRAY.