THE

HERMIT.

BY

BAL L Am D.

DR. GOLD S MIT H.

TUR

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

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

"For here forlorn and loft I tread,
"With fainting steps and flow;
"Where wilds immeafurably fpread,
"Seem lengthening 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."

P

"Here to the houseless child of want,

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My door is open ftill;

"And tho' my portion is but scant, "I give it with good will.

"Then turn to-night, and freely share
"Whate'er my cell beftows;
"My ruhy couch and frugal fare,
"My bleffing and repofe.

"No flocks that range the valley free, "To flaughter I condemn :

Taught by that power that pities me, "I learn to pity them:

"But from the mountain's graffy fide "A guiltless feaft I bring;

"A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd, "And water from the fpring.

"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; "For 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 neighbouring poor,
And tranger's led aftray.

No ftores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care ;

The wicket op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now when bufy crowds retire
To take their evening reft,
The hermit trimnr'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his penfive gueft;

And fpread his vegetable ftore,
And gayly preft, and smil'd;
And skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hour beguil'd.

Around in fympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flics.

But nothing could a charm impart
To footh 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 oppreft: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, "The forrows of thy breast?

"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 thofe 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 nest.

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

Surpriz'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 rifing breast,
Alternate fpread alarms:
The lovely ftranger ftands confeft
A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah, forgive a franger rude,
"A wretch forlorn," he cry'd;
"Whofe feet unhallow'd thus intrude
"Where heaven and you refide.

"But let a maid thy pity fhare,
"Whom love has taught to ftray;
"Who feeks for reft, 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 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.

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

"The bloffom op'ning to the day,
"The dews of heav'n refin'd,
"Could nought 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, "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 shall 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."