THE MORALIZER CORRECTED..
A HERMIT (or if 'chance
you
hold That title now too trite and old) A man, once young, who liv'd retir'd As hermits could have well desir'd, His hours of study clos'd at last, And finih'd his concise repast, Stoppled his cruise, replac'd his book Within its customary nook, And, staff in hand, set forth to share The sober cordial of sweet air, Like Isaac, with a mind applied To serious thought at evening-tide. Autumnal rains had made it chill, And from the trees that fring'd his hill Shades slanting at the clofe of day Chilld more his else delightful way. Distant a little mile he fpied A western bank's still funny fide, And right toward the favour?d place Proceeding with his nimbleft pace,
In hope to balk a little yet, Just reach'd it when the sun was set
Your hermit, young and jovial, Sirs! Learns something from whate'er occurs- And hence, he said, my mind computes The real worth of man's pursuits. His obje& chosen, wealth or fame, Or other sublunary game, Imagination to his view, Presents it deck'd with ev'ry hue That can seduce him not to spare His pow'rs of best exertion there, But youth, health, vigour, to expend On so desirable an end. Ere long, approach life's evening shades, The glow that fancy gave it fades; And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace Which first engag'd him in the chase.
True, answer'd an angelic guide, Attendant at the senior's side But whether all the time it coft To urge
the fruitless chase be lost, Must be decided by the worth Of that which call'd his ardour forth. Trifles pursu'd, whate'er th' event, Must cause hin shame or difcontent;
A vicious object still is worse, Successful there, he wins a curse; But he, whom even in life's last stage Endeavours laudable engage, Is paid, at least in peace of mind, And sense of having well design'd;
ere he attain his end, His fun precipitate descend, A brighter prize than that he meant Shall recompence his mere intent. No virtuous wish can bear a date Lither too early or too late.
The green-house is my summer seat; My shrubs difplac'd from that retreat
Enjoy'd the open air ; Two goldfinches, whose sprightly fong Had been their mutual solace long,
Lip'd happy pris'ners there.
They fang, as blithe as finches fing That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolio where they list; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But that delight they never knew,
And, therefore, never miss'd.
But nature works in ev'ry breast; Instinct is never quite suppress'd;
And Dick felt fome defires, Which, after many an effort vain, Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires.
The open
windows seem'd to invite The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear, Was much too gen'rous and sincere
To leave his friend behind.
For, settling on his grated roof, He chirp'd and kiss'd him, giving proof
That he desir'd no more ; Nor would forsake his cage at last, Till gently seiz'd, I shut him fast,
A pris'ner as before.
Oh ye, who never knew the joys Of friendhip, satisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball, and rout! Blush, when I tell you how a bird, A prison, with a friend, preferr'd
To liberty without.
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