[THOMAS PARNELL, born in Ireland, 1679, a brilliant wit and poet, educated in Dublin, and after a distinguished career in London, determined to revisit Ireland, but died at Chester on his way to Ireland, and was interred there (as the register of Trinity Church states) on the 18th of October, 1718. Parnell was an accomplished scholar and a delightful companion. His Life was written by Goldsmith, who was proud of his distinguished countryman, considering him the last of the great school that had modelled itself upon the ancients. Parnell's works are of a miscellaneous nature-translations, songs, hymns, epistles, etc. His most celebrated piece is "The Hermit," familiar to most readers from their infancy. Pope pronounced it to be "very good;" and its sweetness of diction and picturesque solemnity of style must always please. His "Night-piece on Death," was indirectly preferred by Goldsmith to Gray's celebrated "Elegy;" but few men of taste or feeling will subscribe to such an opinion. In the "Night-piece," Parnell meditates among the tombs. Tired with poring over the pages of schoolmen and sages, he sallies out at midnight to the churchyard.]

How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
Where orbs of gold unnumbered lie;
While through their ranks in silver pride,
The nether crescent seems to glide.
The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe,
The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
Where once again the spangled show
Descends to meet our eyes below.
The grounds, which on the right aspire,
In dimness from the view retire:
The left presents a place of graves,
Whose wall the silent water laves.

That steeple guides thy doubtful sight
Among the livid gleams of night.
There pass, with melancholy state,
By all the solemn heaps of fate,
And think, as softly sad you tread,
Above the venerable dead.

"Time was,
like thee, they life possessed,
And time shall be that thou shalt rest."
Those with bending osier bound,
That nameless heave the crumbled ground,
Quick to the glancing thought disclose
Where toil and poverty repose.

The flat smooth stones that bear a name,
The chisel's slender help to fame-
Which, ere our set of friends decay,
Their frequent steps may wear away-
A middle race of mortals own,
Men half ambitious, all unknown.
The marble tombs that rise on high,
Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whose pillars swell with sculptured stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;
These all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praise the great,
Who, while on earth in fame they live,
Are senseless of the fame they give.

THE HERMIT.

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend Hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
Remote from men, with God he passed his
days,

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.
A life so sacred, such serene repose,
Seemed heaven itself, till one suggestion rose-
That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey;
This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway;
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenor of his soul is lost.
So, when a smooth expanse receives impressed
Calm nature's image on its watery breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending
grow,

And skies beneath with answering colours glow;

But, if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
And glimmering fragments of a broken sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
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 fixed the scallop in his hat before;
Then, with the rising sun, a 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 sun had warmed the day,

A youth came posting o'er a crossing way;
His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair;
Then, near approaching, "Father, hail!" he
cried,

And, Hail, my son!" the reverend sire replied.

Words followed words, from question answer flowed,

And talk of various kind deceived the road;
Till each with other pleased, and loath to part,
While in their age they differ, join in heart.
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
Thus useful 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 crowned their sloping sides with grass.

It chanced the noble master of the dome
Still made his house the wandering stranger's
home;

Yet stiil 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 decked 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 vanished; for in secret guise, The younger guest purloined the glittering 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 shewed.
He stopped with silence, walked with trem-
bling heart,

And much he wished, 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. Warned by the signs, the wandering pair re

treat

To seek for shelter at a neighboring 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, mixed 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 battered by the

rain.

At length some pity warmed the master's breast

'Twas then his threshold first received a guest

Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,
And half he welcomes in the shivering pair;
One frugal fagot lights the naked walls,
And Nature's fervour through their limbs re-
calls;

Bread of the coarsest sort, with meagre wineEach hardly granted-served them both to dine ;

And when the tempest first appeared to cease,
A ready warning bid them part in peace.
With still remark, the pondering hermit
viewed,

In one so rich, a life so pure and rude;
And why should such-within himself he
cried-

Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? But what new marks of wonder soon take place

In every settling feature of his face.

When, from his vest, the young companion

bore