The Monarch now rose, with majestical look, And his sword from the scabbard of Jewels he took, And the Castle with laughter and ribaldry shook, While the braggart accosted thus he: “I will give thee a place that will suit thy demand, “What to thee, is more fitting than Vassals or Land— “I will give thee,—what justice and valour command, “For a TRUMPETER bold—thou shalt be!” Now the revellers rose, and began to complain— While they menac’d with gestures, and frown’d with disdain, And declar’d, that the nobles were fitter to reign Than a Prince so unruly as He. But the Monarch cried, sternly, they taunted him so, “From this moment the counsel of fools I forego— “And on Wisdom and Virtue will honors bestow “For such, ONLY, are welcome to Me!” So saying, he quitted the Banquetting Hall, And leaving his Courtiers and flatterers all— Straightway for his Confessor loudly ’gan call “O! Father! now listen!” said he: “I have feasted the Fool, I have pamper’d the Knave, “I have scoff’d at the wise, and neglected the brave— “And here, Holy Man, Absolution I crave— “For a penitent now I will be.” From that moment the Monarch grew sober and good, (And nestled with Birds of a different brood,) For he found that the pathway which wisdom pursu’d Was pleasant, safe, quiet, and even! That by Temperance, Virtue and liberal deeds, By nursing the flowrets, and crushing the weeds, The loftiest Traveller always succeeds— For his journey will lead him to HEAV’N. _The DESERTED COTTAGE._ Who dwelt in yonder lonely Cot, Why is it thus forsaken? It seems, by all the world forgot, Above its path the high grass grows, And through its thatch the northwind blows —Its thatch, by tempests shaken. And yet, it tops a verdant hill By Summer gales surrounded: Beneath its door a shallow rill Runs brawling to the vale below, And near it sweetest flowrets grow By banks of willow bounded. Then why is ev’ry casement dark? Why looks the Cot so chearless? Ah! why does ruin seem to mark The calm retreat where LOVE should dwell, And FRIENDSHIP teach the heart to swell With rapture, pure and fearless? There, far above the busy croud, Man may repose in quiet; There, smile, that he has left the proud, And blest with liberty, enjoy More than Ambition’s gilded toy, Or Folly’s sick’ning riot.