Page:Tales of instruction, in verse and prose.pdf/2



THE



AR in a wild, unknown to public view

From youth to age a rev'rend grew;

The moſs his bed, the cave his humble

His food the fruits, his drink the well:

Remote from man, with God he paſs’d days,

Pray'r all his bus’neſs, all his pleaſure

A life ſo ſacred, ſuch ſerene ſepoſe,

Seem'd heav'n itſelſ, 'till one ſuggeſtion

That vice ſhould triumph, virtue vice

This ſprung ſome doubt of providence's ſway

His hopes no more a certain proſpect boaſt

And all the tenure of his ſoul is loſt.

So, when a ſmooth expanſe receives

Calm nature's image on its wat’ry breaſt,

Down bend the banks, the trees grow,