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And here my fimile almost tript,
A DESCRIPTION of an Author's Bed CH AMBER.
HERE the Red Lion staring o'er the way,
As there is nothing I dilike so much as news-paper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concise as possible in informing a correspondent of yours, that I reconimended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one ; and I think so ftill. I said, I was told by the bookseller that it was then first published; but in that, it seems, I was misinformed, and my reading was not extensive enough to set me right.
Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad, I published some time ago, from one * by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, some years ago; and he (as we boih considered these things as trifles at best) told me, with his usual good humour, the next time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing: and, were it not for the busy difpofition of some of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more important nature.
riar of Orders Gray.--Relig. of Anc, Postry, vol.
1. p. 243.
URN, gentle Hermit of the dale, “ And guide my lonely way, “To where yon taper cheers the vale,
“ With hospitable ray. «: For here forlorn and loft I tread,
“With fainting steps and Now; " Where wilds immeasurably spread,
“ Seem length’ning as I go." Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries,
“ To tempt the dang’rous gloom ; “For yonder faithless phantom flies
“. To lure thee to thy doom. “ Here to the houseless child of want,
“My door is open ftill ; " And tho' my portion is but fcant,
“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 Naughter I condemn : “ Taught by that power that pities me,
“ I learn to pity them :
« But from the mountain's graffy side
“A guiltless feast I bring; “ A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
“ 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 heav'n descends,
His gentle accents fell:
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay ;
And strangers led aftray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care ;
Receivd the harmless pair.
And now when busy crowds retire
To take their evening relt,
And cheer'd his penfive guest :