THE HERMIT.1

'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.

See the Vicar of Wakefield, cap. viii.

'No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn : 2
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:
3 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

Requir'd a master's care ·

2 This imperfect rhyme is the only defect in this sweet and simple poem, with the exception perhaps of ' fault' and sought,' as rhyming sounds in a following stanza.

3 "

Man wants but little, nor that little long.'
Young's Night 4th.

The wicket opening with a latch,
Receiv'd 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 prest and smil'd;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguil'd.

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

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

His rising cares the Hermit spied,

With answering care opprest:

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?

Ꮐ

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 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 lovelorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd, 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 confest
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 liv'd 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 prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.

• Each hour a mercenary crowd
With rici est proffers strove :
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth or power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.