(3)
And ſkies beneath with anſw'ring colours glow:
But if a ſtone the gentle ſea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry ſide,
And glimm'ring 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 raiment decent, his complexion fair;
And ſoft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair.
Then near approaching, Father, hail! he cry'd;
And, Hail! my ſon, the rev'rend ſire reply'd:
Words follow'd 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, in ivy bound;
