THE HERMIT. TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, To where yon taper cheers the vale "For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem length'ning as I go." 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, "Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, "No flocks that range the valley free "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, No stores beneath its humble thatch Requir❜d a master's care; The wicket, op'ning with a latch, And now when busy crowds retire 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, But nothing could a charm impart 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, "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 shade that follows wealth or fame, "And love is still an emptier sound, On earth unseen, or only found "For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd. Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise, Like colours o'er the morning skies, The bashful look, the rising breast, The lovely stranger stands confest A maid in all her charms. |