Oh! by yonder mossy seat, In my hours of sweet retreat; 50 Might I thus my soul employ, With sense of gratitude and joy! Raised as ancient prophets were, In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer; Pleasing all men, hurting none, Pleased and bless'd with God alone: Then, while the gardens take my sight With all the colours of delight; While silver waters glide along, To please my ear, and court my song: 60 I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, And Thee, Great Source of Nature! sing. The sun, that walks his airy way, To light the world, and give the day; The moon, that shines with borrow'd light; The stars, that gild the gloomy night; The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves; The wood, that spreads its shady leaves; The field, whose ears conceal the grain, The yellow treasure of the plain;-- 70 All of these, and all I see, Should be sung, and sung by me: They speak their Maker as they can, But want, and ask, the tongue of man. Go, search among your idle dreams, Your busy, or your vain extremes; And find a life of equal bliss, Or own the next begun in this! * * * * * THE HERMIT. Far 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; 10 His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, And all the tenor of his soul is lost: So when a smooth expanse receives impress'd 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. 20 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 wandering o'er the nightly dew) He quits his cell; the pilgrim-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.