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THE

HERMIT.

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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 length'ning 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.

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.

"No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn :
Taught by that Pow'r 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 supply'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 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 neighb'ring poor,
And strangers 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 ev’ning 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 ling'ring 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 the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spy'd,

With answ'ring care opprest: “And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations spurn'd,

Reluctant dost 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 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,

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But while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn 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.

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