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BORN, 1328: DIED, 1400.

Principal Works.-Canterbury Tales, House of Fame, Chaucer's

Dream, Assembly of Fowls, The Flower and the Leaf.


FAR from mankind, my weary soul, retire,
Still follow truth, contentment still desire.
Who climbs on high, at best bis weakness shows,
Who rolls in riches, all to fortune owes.
Read well thyself, and mark thy early ways,
Vain is the muse, and envy waits on praise.

Wav'ring as winds the breath of fortune blows,
No pow'r can turn it, and no pray’rs compose.
Deep in some hermit's solitary cell,
Repose, and ease, and contemplation dwell.
Let conscience guide thee in the days of need;
Judge well thy own, and then thy neighbour's deed.

What heav'n bestows, with thankful eyes receive; First ask thy heart, and then through faith believe. Slowly we wander o’er a toilsome way, Shadows of life, and pilgrims of a day. “Who restless in this world, receives a fall, “Look up on high, and thank thy God for all !”


In that season of the year when the serenity of the sky, the various fruits which cover the ground, the discoloured foliage of the trees, and all the sweet, but fading graces of inspiring autumn, open the mind to benevolence, and dispose it for contemplation, I was wandering in a beautiful and romantic country, till curiosity began to give way to weariness; and I sat me down on the fragment of a rock, overgrown with moss, where the rustling of the falling leaves, the dashing of waters, and the hum of the distant city, soothed my mind into the most perfect tranquillity, and sleep insensibly stole upon me, as I was indulging the agreeable reveries which the objects around me naturally inspired.

I immediately found myself in a vast extended plain, in the middle of which arose a mountain higher than I had before any conception of. It was covered with a multitude of people, chiefly youth; many of whom pressed forwards with the liveliest expressions of ardour in their countenance, though the way was in many places steep and difficult. I observed, that those who had but just begun to climb the hill, thought themselves not far from the top; but, as they proceeded, new hills were continually rising to their view, and the summit of the highest they could before discern seemed but the foot of another, till the moun.



tain at length appeared to lose itself in the clouds. As I was gazing on these things with astonishment, my good genius suddenly appeared:-"The mountain before thee,” said he, “is the Hill of Science. On the top is the temple of Truth, whose head is above the clouds, and a veil of pure light covers her face. Observe the progress of her votaries; be silent and attentive."

I saw that the only regular approach to the mountain was by a gate, called the Gate of Languages. It was kept by a woman of a pensive and thoughtful appearance, whose lips were continually moving, as though she repeated something to herself. Her name was Memory. On entering this first enclosure, I was stunned with a confused murmur of jarring voices and dissonant sounds; which increased upon me to such a degree, that I was utterly confounded, and could compare the noise to nothing but the confusion of tongues at Babel.

After contemplating these things, I turned my eyes towards the top of the mountain, where the air was always pure and exhilarating, the path shaded with laurels and other evergreens, and the effulgence which beamed from the face of the goddess seemed to shed a glory round her votaries. “Happy," said I, “ are they who are permitted to ascend the mountain !". but while I was pronouncing this exclamation with uncommon ardour, I saw standing beside me a form of diviner features and a ore benign radiance. “Happier," said she, are those whom Virtue con

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