"For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slowWhere 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, "Then turn to-night, and freely share "No flocks that range the valley free Taught by that Power that pities me, "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; Soft as the dew from heaven descends, Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighb'ring poor, No stores beneath its humble thatch And now, when busy crowds retire And spread his vegetable store, The lingering hours beguiled. |