Imprimis, pray observe his hat, Wings upon either side — mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very rightWith wit that's flighty, learning light; Such as to modern bards decreed: A just comparison - proceed.

In the next place, his feet peruse; Wings grow again from both his shoes; Designed, no doubt, their part to bear, And waft his godship through the air. And here my simile unites

For, in a modern poet's flights,
I'm sure it may be justly said,

His feet are useful as his head.

Lastly, vouchsafe to observe his hand, Filled with a snake-encircled wand; By classic authors termed caduceus, And highly famed for several uses; To wit-most wondrously endued, No poppy-water half so good For let folks only get a touch, Its soporific virtue 's such,

Though ne'er so much awake before,

That quickly they begin to snore :
Add, too, what certain writers tell-
With this he drives men's soul's to hell
Now to apply, begin we then :
His wand's a modern author's pen;
The serpents round about it twined
Denote him of the reptile kind

Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slaver, venomed bites;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike, too, both conduce to sleep-
This difference only, as the god
Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod,
With his goose-quill the scribbling elf
Instead of others damns himself.

And here my simile almost tripped,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Mercury had a failing;

Well! what of that? out with it — stealing;

In which all modern bards agree,

Being each as great a thief as he.
But even this deity's existence
Shall lend my simile assistance:
Our modern bards! why what a-pox

Are they—but senseless stones and blocks?

THE HERMIT.

"TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way

To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray;

"For here, forlorn and lost, I tread,
With fainting steps and slow-
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.

"Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open still;

And, though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will.

"Then turn, to-night, and freely share

Whate'er my cell bestows
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.

"No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn-
Taught by that power that pities me,
I learn to pity them;

"But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring —
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong :
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, His gentle accents fell;

The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far, in a wilderness obscure,
The lonely mansion lay,

A refuge to the neighboring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,

And gayly pressed, and smiled; And, skilled in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling fagot flies;

But, nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe-
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied-
With answering care oppressed;

“And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations spurned,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love?

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay-

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they;

"And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep

A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?

"And love is still an emptier sound –
The modern fair-one's jest;

On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest.

"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush

And spurn the sex," he said:

But, while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betrayed.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:

The lovely stranger stands confessed,
A maid in all her charms.