Then thus he moraliz'd, as slow it pass'd:
"This brings me nearer Lucia than the last;
"And this, now streaming from the eye," said he,
“Oh, my lov'd child, will bring me nearer thee."
When first he roam'd, his dog, with anxious care,
His wand'rings watch'd, as emulous to share;
In vain the faithful brute was bid to go,
In vain the sorrower sought a lonely woe.
The hermit paus'd, th' attendant dog was near,
Slept at his feet, and caught the falling tear;
Up rose the hermit, up the dog would rise,
And every way to win a master tries.
"Then be it so. Come, faithful fool," he said;
One pat encourag'd, and they sought the shade:
An unfrequented thicket soon they found;
And both repos'd upon the leafy ground;
Mellifluous murm'rings told the fountains nigh,
Fountains which well a pilgrim's drink supply:
And thence by many a labyrinth is led,
Where ev'ry tree bestow'd an evening bed.
Skill'd in the chase, the faithful creature brought
Whate'er at morn or moon-light course he caught;
But the sage lent his sympathy to all,

Nor saw unwept his dumb associates fall.
He was, in sooth, the gentlest of his kind,

And, though a hermit, had a social mind:
"And why," said he, " must man subsist by prey,
"Why stop yon melting music on the spray?

"Why, when assail'd by hounds and hunter's cry, "Must half the harmless race in terrors die?

Why must we work of innocence the woe! "Still shall this bosom throb, these eyes o'erflow: "A heart too tender here, from man retires; "A heart that aches, if but a wren expires." Thus liv'd the master good, the servant true, Till to its God the master's spirit flew : Beside a fount, which daily water gave, Stooping to drink, the Hermit found a grave; All in the running stream his garments spread, And dark damp verdure ill-conceal'd his head; The faithful servant, from that fatal day, Watch'd the lov'd corse, and hourly pin'd away: His head upon his master's cheek was found, While the obstructed water mourn'd around.

ODE TO INNOCENCE.

BY OGILVIE.

"TWAS when the slow declining ray,

Had ting'd the cloud with evening gold ;

No warbler pour'd the melting lay,

No sound disturb'd the sleeping fold.

When, by a murm'ring rill reclin'd,
Sat wrapt in thought a wand'ring swain,
Calm peace compos'd his musing mind;
And thus he rais'd the flowing strain:

Hail, Innocence! celestial maid! 'What joys thy blushing charms reveal! 'Sweet as the arbour's cooling shade, 'And milder than the vernal gale.

'On thee attends a radiant choir, 'Soft-smiling Peace and downy Rest! With Love, that prompts the warbling lyre! 'And Hope, that soothes the throbbing breast.

'O, sent from Heav'n to haunt the grove,
'Where squinting Envy ne'er can come !
'Nor pines the cheek with luckless love,
Nor anguish chills the living bloom.

But spotless Beauty, rob'd in white,
'Sits on yon moss-grown hill reclin'd:

'Serene as heaven's unsullied light,

6

And pure as Delia's gentle mind.

Grant, Heav'nly Pow'r! thy peaceful sway

May still my ruder thoughts control:

Thy hand to point my dubious way,

'Thy voice to soothe the melting soul.

'Far in a shady sweet retreat

'Let thought beguile the ling'ring hour;

'Let quiet court the mossy seat,

'And twining olives form the bow'r.

'Let dove-ey'd Peace her wreath bestow, 'And oft sit list'ning in the dale, 'While night's sweet warbler from the bough 'Tells to the grove her plaintive tale.

'Soft as in Delia's snowy breast,

'Let each consenting passion move;

'Let angels watch its silent rest,

'And all its blissful dreams be love!"

THE HERMIT.

BY PARNEL.

FAR in a wild unknown to public view,
From youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days,
Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose, Seem'd heav'n 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 imprest
Calm nature's image on its wat❜ry breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answ'ring colours glow;
But if a stone the gentle scene divide,

Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side,

And glimm'ring 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 wand'ring o'er the nightly dew) He quits his cell, the pilgrim's staff he bore, And fix'd the scallop in his hat before; Then with the sun a rising 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 wind had warm'd the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way: His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair.