The hermit: To which are added, A hymn to contentment; Health, an eclogue; and A night piece, on death. By Dr. Thomas Parnell, ...

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- THE HERMIT.

- A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

- HEALTH, AN ECLOGUE.

- A NIGHT PIECE, ON DEATH.

FINIS.

THE HERMIT.

To which are added, A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT; HEALTH, AN ECLOGUE; AND A NIGHT PIECE, ON DEATH.

By Dr. THOMAS PARNELL, late Arch-Deacon of CLOGHER.

DROGHEDA: Printed by JOHH FLEMING, in WEST-STREET.

THE HERMIT.

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 chrystal Well:

Remote from Man, with God he pass'd the 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 Suggesstion 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 it's 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 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,

Whose Feet came wand'ring 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.

The Morn was wasted in the pathless Grass,

And long and lonesome was the Wild to pass;

But when the Southern Sun had warm'd the Day,

A Youth came posting o'er a crossing Way;

His Rayment decent, his Complexion fair,

And soft in graceful Ringlets wav'd his Hair.

Then near aproaching, Father Hail! he cry'd,

And Hail, my Son, the rev'rend Sire reply'd;

Words followed Words, from Question Answer flow'd

And talk of various kind deceiv'd the Road;

'Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,

While in their Age they differ, join in Heart:

Thus stands an aged Elm and Ivy bound,

Thus youthful Ivy clasps an Elm around.

Now sunk the sun; the closing Hour of Day

Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey;

Nature in Silence bid the World repose:

When near the Road a stately Palace rose:

There by the Moon thro' Ranks of Trees they pass,

Whose Verdure crown'd their sloping Sides of Grass.

It chanc'd the noble Master of the Dome,

Still made his House the wand'ring Strangers home:

Yet still the Kindness, from a Thirst of Praise,

Prov'd the vain Flourish of expensive Ease.

The Pair arriv'd: the liv'ry Servants wait;

The Lord receives them at the pompous Gate.

The Table groans with costly Piles of Food,

And all is more than Hospitably good,

Then led to rest, the Day's long Toil they drown,

Deep sunk in Sleep, and Silk, and Heaps of Down.

At lenth'tis Morn, and at the Dawn of Day,

Along the wide Canals the Zephyrs Play;

Fresh o'er the gay Parterres the Breezes creep,

And shake the neigh'bring Wood to banish Sleep,

Up rise the Guests, obedient to the Call,

An early Banquet deck'd the splendid Hall;

Rich lucious Wine a golden Goblet grac't,

Which the kind Master sorc'd the Guests to taste.

Then pleas'd and thankful from the Porch they go,

And, but the Landlord, none had cause of Woe;

His Cup was vanish'd; for in secret Guise

The younger Guest purloin'd the glittering Prize.

As one who spiss a Serpent in his Way,

Glist'ning and basking in the Summer Ray,

Disorder'd stops to shun the Danger near,

Then walks with Faintness on, and looks with Fear;,

So seem'd the Sire; when far upon the Road,

The shining Spoil his wilely Partner show'd:

He stopp'd with Silence, walk'd with trembling Heart,

And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part:

Murm'ring he lifts his Eyes, and thinks it hard,

That generous Actions meet a base Reward.

While thus they pass, the Sun his Glory shrouds,

The changing Skies hang out their Sable Clouds,

A Sound in Air presag'd approaching Rain,

And Beasts to covert scud a-cross the Plain.

Warn'd by the Signs, the wand'ring Pair retreat.

To seek, for Shelter at a neighb'ring Seat.

'Twas built with Turrets, on a rising Ground,

And strong, and large, unimprov'd around;

Its Owner's Temper, tim'rous and severe,

Unkind and griping, caus'd a Desert there.

As near the Miser's heavy Doors they drew,

Fierce rising Gusts with sudden Fury blew;

The nimble Light'ning mix'd with Show'rs began,

And o'er their Heads loud rolling Thunder ran.

Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,

Driv'n by the Wind, and batter'd by the Rain.

At lenth some Pity warm'd the Master's Breast,

('Twas then, his Threshold first receiv'd a Guest)

Slow creaking turns the Door with jealous Care,

And half he welcomes in the shivering Pair;

One frugal Faggot lights the naked Walls,

And Nature's Fervor thro' their Limbs recals:

Bread of the coursest sort, with eager Wine,

(Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine;

And when the Tempest first appear'd to cease,

A ready warning bid them part in Peace.

With still Remark the pond'ring Hermit view'd

In one so rich, a Life so poor and rude;

And why shou'd such, (within himself he cry'd,)

Lock the lost Wealth a thousand want beside?

But what new Marks of Wonder soon took place,

In ev'ry settling Feature of his Face!

When from his Vest the young Companion bore

That Cup, the gen'rous Landlord own'd before,

And paid profusely with the precious Bowl

The stinted Kindness of this churlish Soul.

But now the Clouds in airy Tumult fly,

The Sun emerging ope's an azure Sky;

A fresher green the smeling Leaves display,

And glitt'ring as they tremble, chear the Day:

The Weather courts them from the poor Retreat,

And the glad Master bolts the wary Gate.

While hence they walk, the Pilgrim's Bosom wrought,

With all the Travel of uncertain Thought;

His Partner's Acts without their Cause appear,

'Twas there a Vice, and seem'd a Madness here:

Detesting that, and pitying this he goes,

Lost and confounded with the various Shows.

Now Night's dim Shades again involve the Sky;

Again the Wand'rers want a Place to lye,

Again they search, and find a Lodging nigh.

The Soil improv'd around, the Mansion neat,

And neither poorly low, nor idly great:

It seem'd to speak its Master's turn of Mind,

Content, and not for Praise, but Virtue kind.

Hither the Walkers turn with weary Feet

Then bless the Mansion, and the Master greet:

Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest Guise,

The courteous Master hears, and thus replies:

Without a vain, without a grudging Heart,

To Him who gives us all, I yield a Part;

From Him you come, from Him accept it here,

A frank and sober, more than costly Cheer.

He spoke, and bid the welcome Table spread,

Then talk'd of Virtue till the Time of Bed,

When the grave Houshold round his Hall repair,

Warn'd by a Bell, and close the Hours with Pray'r.

At length the World renew'd by calm Repose

Was strong for Toil, the dappled Morn arose;

Before the Pilgrims part, the Younger crept,

Near the clos'd Cradle where an Infant slept,

And writh'd his Neck, the Landlord's little Pride,

O Strange Return! grew black, and gasp'd, and dy

Horrour of Horrours! what! his only Son!

How look'd our Hermit when the Fact was done?

Not Hell, tho' Hell's black Jaws in sunder part,

And breathe blue Fire, cou'd more assault his Hea

Confus'd, and struck with Silence at the Deed,

He flies, but trembling fails to fly with Speed.

His Steps the Youth pursues; the Country lay

Perplex'd with Roads, a Servant show'd the Way:

A River cross'd the Path; the Passage o'er

Was nice to find, the Servant trod before;

Long Arms of Oak an open Bridge supply'd,

And deep the Waves beneath the Bending glide.

The Youth, who seem'd to watch a Time to sin,

Approach'd the careless Guide, and thrust him in;

Plunging he falls, and rising lists his Head,

Then flashing turns, and sinks among the Dead.

Wild, sparkling Rage inflames the Father's Eyes,

He bursts the Bands of Fear, and madly cries,

Detested Wretch—but scarce his Speech began,

When the strange Partner seem'd no longer Man.

His youthful Face grew more serenely sweet;

His Robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his Feet;

Fair Rounds of radiant Points invest his Hair;

Celestial Odours breathe thro' purpled Air;

And Wings, whose Colours glitter'd on the Day,

Wide at his Back their gradual Plumes display.

The Form Etherial bursts upon his Sight,

And moves in all the Majesty of Light.

Tho' loud at first the Pilgrim's Passion grew,

Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do;

Surprize in secret Chains his Word suspends,

And in a Calm his settling Temper ends.

But Silence here the beauteous Angel broke,

The Voice of Music ravish'd as he spoke.)

Thy Pray'r, thy Praise, thy Life to Vice unknown,

In sweet Memorial rise before the Throne:

These Charms, Success in our bright Region find,

And force an Angel down, to calm thy Mind;

For this commission'd, I forsook the Sky:

Nay, cease to kneel—thy fellow Servant I.

Then know the Truth of Government divine,

And let these Scruples be no longer thine.

The Maker justly claims that World he made,

In this the Right of Providence is laid;

Its sacred Majesty thro' all depends

On using second Means to work his Ends:

'Tis thus, withdrawn in State from human Eye,

The Pow'r exerts his Attributes on high,

Your Actions uses, not controuls your Will,

And bids the doubting Sons of Men be still.

What strange Events can strike with more Surpriz

Than those which lately strook thy wond'ring Eyes:

Yet taught by these, confess th'Almighty just,

And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust.

The Great, Vain Man, who far'd on costly Foo•

Whose Life was too luxurious to be good;

Who made his Iv'ry Stands with Goblets shine,

And forc'd his Guests to morning Draughts of Wine•

Has, with the Cup, the graceless Custom lost,

And still he welcomes, but with less of Cost.

The mean, suspicious Wretch, whose bolted Door•

Ne'er mov'd in Duty to the wand'ring Poor;

With him I left the Cup, to teach his Mind

That Heav'n can bless, if Mortals will be kind.

Conscious of wanting Worth, he views the Bowl,

And feels Compassion touch his grateful Soul.

Thus Artists melt the sullen Oar of Lead,

With heaping Coals of Fire upon its Head;

In the kind Warmth the Metal learns to glow,

And loose from Dross, the Silver runs below.

Long had our, pious Friend in Virtue trod,

But now the Child half-wean'd his Heart from God,

(Child of his Age) for him he liv'd in Pain,

And measur'd back his Steps to Earth again.

To what Excesses had his Dotage run?

But God, to save the Father, took the Son,

To all but thee, in Fits he seem'd to go,

(And 'twas my Ministry to deal the Blow)

The poor fond Parent humbled in the Dust,

Now owns in Tears the Punishment was just.

But how had all his Fortune felt a Wrack,

Had that false Servant sped in Safety back?

This Night his treasur'd Heaps he meant to steal,

And what a fund of Charity wou'd fail!

Thus Heav'n instructs thy Mind: This Tryal o'er

Depart in Peace, resign, and sin no more.

On sounding Pinnions here the Youth withdrew,

The Sage stood wond'ring as the Seraph flew.

Thus look'd Elisha when to mount on high,

His Master took the Chariot of the sky;

The fiery Pomp ascending left the View;

The Prophet gaz'd and wish'd to follow too.

The bending Hermit here a Pray'r begun,

Lord! as in Heaven, on Earth thy Will be done,

Then gladly turning, sought his antient Place,

And pass'd a Life of Piety and Peace.

A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

LOvely, lasting Peace of Mind!

Sweet Delight of human kind!

Heavenly born, and bred on high,

To crown the Fav'rites of the Sky

With more of Happiness below,

Than Victors in a Triumph know!

Whither, O whither art thou fled,

To lay thy meek, contented Head?

What happy Region dost thou please

To make the Seat of Calms and Ease?

Ambition searches all its Sphere

Of Pomp and State, to meet thee there.

Encreasing Avarice would find

Thy Presence in its Gold enshrin'd.

The bold Advent'rer ploughs his way,

Thro' Rocks amidst the foaming Sea,

To gain thy Love; and then perceives

Thou wert not in the Rocks and Waves.

The silent Heart with Grief assails,

Treads soft and lonesome o'er the Vales,

Sees Daisies open, Rivers run,

And seeks (as I have vainly done)

Amusing Thought; but learns to know

That Solitude's the Nurse of Woe.

No real Happiness is, found

In trailing Purple o'er the Ground:

Or in a Soul exalted high,

To range the Circuit of the Sky,

Converse with Stars above, and know

All Nature in its Forms below;

The Rest it seeks; in seeking dies,

And Doubts at last for Knowledge rise.

Lovely, lasting Peace appear!

This World itself, if, thou art here,

Is once again with Eden bless'd,

And Man contains it in his Breast.

'Twas thus, as under Shade I stood,

I sung my Wishes to the Wood,

And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd

The Branches whisper as they wav'd:

It seem'd, as all the quiet Place

Confess'd the Presence of the Grace.

When thus she spoke—Go rule thy Will,

Bid thy wild Passions all be still,

Know God—and bring thy Heart to know,

The Joys which from Religion flow:

Then every Grace shall prove its Guest,

And I'll be there to crown the rest.

Oh! by yonder Mossy Seat,

In my Hours of sweet Retreat;

Might I thus my Soul employ,

With Sense of Gratitude and Joy:

Rais'd as ancient Prophets were,

In heavenly Vision, Praise, and Pray'r;

Pleasing all Men, hurting none,

Pleas'd 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:

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 Scas 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;

All of these, and all I see,

Shou'd 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 Extreams;

And find a Life of equal Blifs,

Or own the next begun in this.

HEALTH, AN ECLOGUE.

NOW early Shepherds o'er the Meadow pass,

And print long foot-steps in the glittering grass;

The Cows neglectful of their Pasture stand,

Turns obsequious to the Milker's Hand.

When Damon softly trod the shaven Lawn,

Damon a Youth from City Cares withdrawn;

•ong was the pleasing Walk he wander'd thro',

〈◊〉 cover'd Arbour clos'd the distant View;

•here rests the Youth, and while the feather'd Throng

•aise their wild Musick, thus contrives a Song.

Here wasted o'er by mild Etesian Air,

Thou Country Goddess, beauteous Health! rep;

Here let my Breast thro' quiv'ring Trees inhale

Thy rosy Blessings with the Morning Gale.

What are the Fields, or Flow'rs, or all I see?

Ah! tasteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee.

Joy to my Soul! I feel the Goddess nigh,

The Face of Nature cheers as well as I;

O'er the flat Green refreshing Breezes run,

The smiling Dazies blow beneath the Sun,

The Brooks run purling down with silver Waves,

The planted Lanes rejoice with dancing Leaves,

The chirping Birds from all the Compass rove

To tempt the tunesul Ecchoes of the Grove:

High sunny Summits, deeply shaded Dales,

Thick Mossy Banks, and flow'ry winding Vales,

With various Prospect gratify the Sight,

And scatter fix'd Attention in Delight.

Come, Country Goddess, come, nor thou suffice

But bring thy Mountain-Sister, Exercise.

Call'd by thy lively Voice, she turns her Pace,

Her winding Horn proclaims the finish'd Chace;

She mounts the Rocks, she skims the level Plain,

Dogs, Hawks and Horses, crown'd her early Train

Her hardy Face repells the tanning Wind,

And Lines and Meshes loosely float behind.

A•l these as Means of Toil the Feeble see,

〈◊〉 these are helps to Pleasure join'd with thee.

Let Sloth lye sost'ning'till high Noon in Down

〈◊〉 lolling fan her in the sult'ry Town,

••nerv'd with Rest; and turn her own Disease,

〈◊〉 foster others in luxurious Ease:

• mount the Courser, call the deep mouth'd Hounds;

•he Fox unkennell'd flies to covert Grounds;

•ead where Stags thro' tangled Thickets tread,

•nd shake the Saplings with their branching Head;

• •ake the Faulcons wing their airy Way,

•nd soar to seize, or stooping strike their Prey;

〈◊〉 snare the Fish I fix the luring Bait;

〈◊〉 wound the Fowl I load the Gun with Fate.

〈◊〉 thus thio' change of Exercise I range,

••d Strength and Pleasure rise from ev'ry Change.

Hear beauteous Health for all the Year remain,

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural Song,

••d bring thy Daughter, calm Content along.

••me of the ruddy Cheek and laughing Eye,

••m whose bright Presence Clouds of Sorrow fly:

〈◊〉 her I mow my Walks, I plat my Bow'rs,

〈◊〉 my low Hedges, and support my Flow'rs;

〈◊〉 welcome her, this Summer Seat I drest,

〈◊〉 here I court her when she comes to Rest;

When she from Exercise to learned Ease

Shall change again, and teach the Change to pleas•

Now Friends conversing my soft Hours refine,

And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine:

Now to grave Books I bid the Mind retreat,

And suck as make me rather Good than Great,

Or o'er the Works of easy Fancy rove,

Where Flutes and Innocence amuse the Grove:

The native Bard that on Sicilian Plains

First sung the lowly Manners of the Swains;

Or Maro's Muse that in the fairest Light

Paints rural Prospects and the Charms of Sight;

These soft Amusements bring Content along,

And Fancy, void of Sorrow, turns to Song.

Heare beauteous Health for all the Year remai••

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus ag••••

A NIGHT PIECE, ON DEATH.

BY the blue Tapers trembling Light,

No more I waste the wakeful Night.

Intent with endless View to pore

The Schoolmen and the Sages o'er:

Their Books from Wisdom widely stray,

Or point at best the longest Way.

I'll seek a readier Path, and go

Where Wisdom's surely taught below.

How deep yon Azure dies the sky!

Where Orbs of Gold unnumber'd lye,

While thro' their Ranks in silver pride

The nether Crescent seems to glide.

The slumb'ring Breeze forgets to breathe,

The Lake is smooth and clear beneath,

Where once again the spangle Snow

Descends to meet our Eyes below.

The Grounds which on the right aspire,

In dimness, from the View retire:

The Left presents a Place of Graves,

Whose Wall the silent Water leaves.

That Steeple guides thy doubtful sight

Among the livid gleams of Night.

There pass with melancholly State,

By all the solemn Heaps of Fate,

And think, as softly-sad you tread

Above the venerable Dead,

Time was, like thee they Life possest,

And Time shall be, that thou shalt Rest.

Those Graves, with bending Osier bound,

That nameless heave the crumbled Ground,

Quick to the glancing Thought disclose

Where Toil and Poverty repose.

The flat smooth Stones that bear a Name,

The Chissel's slender help to Fame,

(Which e'er our Set of Friends decay

Their frequent Steps may wear away.)

A middle Race of Mortals own,

Men, half ambitious, all unknown.

The Marble Tombs that rise on high,

Whose Dead in vaulted Arches lye;

Whose Pillars swell with sculptur'd Stones,

Arms, Angels, Epitaphs, and Bones,

These (all the poor Remains of State)

Adorn the Rich, or praise the Great;

Who while on Earth in Fame they live,

Are senseless of the Fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,

The bursting Earth unveils the Shades!

All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with Shrouds,

They rise in visionary Crouds,

And all with sober Accent cry,

Think, Mortal, what it is to dye.

Now from yon black and fun'ral Yew,

That bathes the Charnel House with Dew,

Methinks I hear a Voice begin;

(Ye Ravens, cease your croaking Din,

Ye tollings Clocks, no Time resound

O'er the long Leak and midnight Ground)

It sends a Peal of hollow Groans,

Thus speaking from among the Bones,

When Men my Scythe and Darts supply,

How great a King of Fears am I!

They view me like the last of Things:

They make, and then they dread, my Stings.

Fools! if you less provok'd your Fears,

No more my Spectre-Form appears.

Death's but a Path that must be trod,

If Man wou'd ever pass to God:

A Port of Calms, a State of Ease

From the rough Rage of swelling Seas.

Why then thy flowing Sable Stoles,

Deep pendent Cypress, mourning Poles,

Loose Scarfs to fall athwart thy Weeds,

Long Palls, drawn Herses, cover'd Steeds,

And Plumes of black, that as they tread,

Nod o'er the 'Scutcheons of the Dead?

Nor can the parted Body know,

Nor wants the Soul, these Forms of woe:

As Men who long in Prison dwell,

With Lamps that glimmer round the Cell,

When e'er their suffering Years are run,

Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring Sun:

Such Joy, tho' far transcending Sense,

Have pious Souls at parting hence.

On Earth, and in the Body plac't,

A few, and evil Years, they waste:

But when their Charms are cast aside,

See the glad Scene unfolding wide,

Clap the glad Wing and tow'r away,

And mingle with the Blaze of Day.

Information about this book

Title statement

The hermit: To which are added, A hymn to contentment; Health, an eclogue; and A night piece, on death. By Dr. Thomas Parnell, ...

Parnell, Thomas, 1679-1718.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
13 Banbury Road
Oxford
OX2 6NN
ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5480

ID [isbn10]

1106024796

ID [isbn13]

9781106024794

ID [TCP]

K127900.000

ID [BIBNO]

cw3315042891

ID [ECLL]

0894701100

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The hermit: To which are added, A hymn to contentment; Health, an eclogue; and A night piece, on death. By Dr. Thomas Parnell, ..., Parnell, Thomas, 1679-1718.. 24p. ; 8⁰. Drogheda :: printed by Johh [sic] Fleming,. [1775?]. [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT208679.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2p5.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

This electronic text file was keyed from page images and partially proofread for accuracy. Character capture and encoding have been done following the guidelines of the ECCO Text Creation Partnership, which correspond roughly to the recommendations found in Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file.