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BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

URN, gentle hermit of the dale!
And guide my lonely way

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"To where yon taper cheers the vale, "With hofpitable ray.

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For here forlorn and loft I tread,
"With fainting fteps and flow,
"Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
"Seem length'ning as I go."

"Forbear, my fon!" the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dang❜rous gloom;
"For yonder faithlefs phantom flies,
"To lure thee to thy doom.

"Here to the houfelefs child of want
"My door is open ftill;

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

"Then turn to-night, and freely fhare "Whate'er my cell beftows;

"My rushy couch and frugal fare,

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My bleffing and repofe.

"No flocks, that range the valley free,

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"To flaughter I condemn:

Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,
"I learn to pity them:

“But from the mountain's grafsy side "A guiltlefs feaft I bring;

"A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'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 defcends,
His gentle accents fell:
The modeft ftranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obfcure
The lonely manfion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And ftrangers led aftray.

No flores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a mafter's care;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when bufy crowds retire
To take their ev❜ning reft,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his penfive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly prefs'd and fmil'd;
And, fkill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil❜d.
Around, in fympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.

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

His rifing cares the hermit fpy'd,

With anfw'ring care opprefs'd:

"And whence, unhappy youth!" he cry'd, "The forrows of thy breaft?

"From better habitations spurn'd,
"Reluctant doft 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 ftill than they.

“And what is friendship but a name,
"A charm that lulls to fleep;
"A fhade that follows wealth or fame,
"And leaves the wretch to weep!
"And love is ftill an emptier found,
"The modern fair one's jeft!
"On earth unfeen, or only found
"To warm the turtle's neft.

"For fhame! fond youth! thy forrows hush,
"And fpurn the fex!" he faid;
But, while he spoke, a rifing blufh
His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd, he fees new beauties rife,
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as tranfient too.

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

The lovely ftranger ftands confefs'd
A maid in all her charms.

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And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
"A wretch forlorn," fhe cry'd,
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
"Where Heav'n and you refide.

"But let a maid thy pity fhare,
"Whom love has taught to stray;
"Who seeks for reft, but finds despair

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Companion of her way.

My father liv'd befide 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 fuitors came;.
"Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
"And felt, or feign'd, a flame.

"Each hour, a mercenary crowd,
"With richest proffers, ftrove;
"Among the reft young Edwin bow'd;
"But never talk'd of love.

"In humble, fimpleft habit clad,
"No wealth or pow'r had he:
"Wisdom and worth were all he had,
"And these were all to me.

"The bloffom op'ning to the day,
"The dews of heav'n refin'd,-
"Could naught of purity difplay,
"To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the bloffoms of the tree, "With charms inconftant, shine; "Their charms were his, but, woe to me! "Their conftancy was mine.

For ftill I try'd each fickle art,

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Importunate and vain ;

"And while his paffion touch'd my heart, "I triumph'd in his pain.

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn, "He left me to my pride;

"And fought a folitude forlorn,

"In fecret, where he dy❜d.

"But mine the forrow, mine the fault,
"And well my life fhall pay;
"I'll feek the folitude he fought,
"And ftretch me where he lay.

"And there, forlorn, defpairing, hid,
"I'll lay me down and die;
"'Twas fo for me that Edwin did,
"And fo for him will I."

"Forbid it, Heav'n!" the hermit cry'd,
And clafp'd her to his breast;
The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide ;
'Twas Edwin's felf that prefs'd.

"Turn, Angelina! ever dear,

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"My charmer! turn to fee
Thy own, thy long-loft Edwin here,
"Reftor'd to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
“And ev'ry care resign.

"And fhall we never, never part,
My life!-my all that's mine?

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No, never, from this hour to part,
"We'll live and love fo true;

"The figh that rends thy conftant heart,
"Shall break thy Edwin's too."

ELEGY.

On the DEATH of an UNFORTUNATE LADY.

WHAT

BY ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ.

THAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moon-light fhade,
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

'Tis fhe!-but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
O ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it in heav'n a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm-a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For those who greatly think or bravely die?

Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
Ambition firft fprung from your bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breafts of kings and heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, peep out but once an age,
Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;

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