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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 man, with God he pass'd the days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose, Seem'd 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 tenour of his soul is lost. So when a smooth expanse receives imprest 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 scene 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,