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 who pities me,
I learn to pity them;

THE HERMIT.

"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 neighbouring 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 trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily press'd, and smiled ; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

THE HERMIT.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries-
The cricket chirrups on the hearth,
The crackling faggot 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 oppress'd; "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
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,
And leaves the wretch to weep?

"And Love is still an emptier soundThe modern fair one's jest;

On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest.

THE HERMIT.

"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush-
And spurn the sex," he said :
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.

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

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

The lovely stranger stands confess'd,
A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried,
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside;

"But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray

Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

"My father lived beside the Tyne

A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine;
He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms,

Unnumber'd suitors came;

Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt or feign'd a flame.