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. THE H E R M Ι. T.

A
BA L L A - D.
By DR.

1

"TURN

URN, gentle bermit of the dale,

" And guide my lonely way, " To where yon taper cheers thc vale,

“ With hospitable ray,

« For here forlorn and loft I tread,

“ With fainting steps and flow; " Where wilds immcasurably spread,

“ Scem lengthening as I go."?

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" Forbear my son," the hermit cries,

" To tempt the dang'rous gloom; “For yonder faithless phantom flies " To lure thee to thy doom.

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" Here to the houseless child of want,

My door is open fill; “ And tho' 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 bleffing and repose.

“ No flocks that range the valley free,

To Naughter I condemn : “ Taught by that power that pities me,

“ I learn to pity them :

" But from the mountain's graffy fide

" A guiltless feast I bring ; “ A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,

or 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 descends,

His gentle accents fell:
The modeft stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Iar in a wilderness obscure

The lonely manfion lay;
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,

And Itranger’s led astray.

No stores 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 busy crowds retire

To take their evening reft,
The hermit trimni'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his penfive guest ;

And spread his vegetable ftore,

And gayly preft, and smild; And skill'd in legendary lore,

The ling’ring hour beguild.
Around in fympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries ;
The cricket chirups in the bearth;

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 rising cases the hermit fpy'd,

With answ'ring care oppreft : “ And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd,

“ The sorrows of thy breast ?

• From better habitations spurn’d,

os Reluctant doft thou rove: “ Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,

" Or unregarded love?

“ Alas the joys that fortune brings,

“ Are triling and decay ; 66 And those who prize the paltry things,

“ More trilling till than they.

" And what is friendship but a name,

" A charm that lulls to seep ; 66 A shade that follows wealth or fame, 66 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 forrows hush,

" And spurn the fex,” he said : But while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpriz'd he fees 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," he cry'd ; 5. 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 feeks 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

w With richest proffers ftrove ; " Among the rest 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,

". But these were all to me.

“ The blossom op'ning to the day,

“ The dews of heav'n refin'd, “ Could nought of purity display,

“ To emulate his mind.

" The dew, the blossoms of the tree,

“ With charms inconftant shine ; ". Their charms were his, but woe to me,

“ Their conftancy was mine.

" For still I try'd each fickle art,

" Importuoate and vain ; “ And while his passion touch'd my heart,

“ I triumph'd in his pain.

“ 'Till quite dejected with my scorn,

“ He left me to my pride ; “ And sought a solitude forlorn,

“ In fecret, where he dy'd.

“ But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
" And well
my life shall

pay ;
66 I'll seek the folitude he fought,

" And stretch me where he lay.

" And there, forlorn, despairing hid,

“ I'll lay me down and die ! " 'Twas fo for me that Edwin did,

66 And so for him will I."

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