And now my eyes with transport rove O'er all the blue expanse above, Unbroken by a cloud! And now beneath delighted pass Where, winding through the deep green grass, A full-brimm'd river flow'd. I stop, I gaze; in accents rude, Burst forth th' unbidden lay; ❝ Begone, vile world, the learn'd, the wise, "The great, the busy, I despise, "And pity ev'n the gay. "These, these are joys alone, I cry ; ""Tis here, divine Philosophy, "Thou deign'st to fix thy throne! "Here Contemplation points the road "Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, The tyrant passions all subside; Fear, anger, pity, shame, and pride, No more my bosom move; Of universal love. When lo! a voice, a voice I hear! 'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear These monitory strains: "What mean'st thou, man? wouldst thou unbind "The same Almighty Power unseen, "He bids the tyrant passions rage, "Art thou not man, and darest thou find "Shall light, and shade, and warmth, and air. "Which active virtue feels! "When on she drags, as lawful prize, Contempt, and Indolence, and Vice, At her triumphant wheels! "As rest to labor still succeeds "To man, whilst Virtue's glorious deeds "Employ his toilsome day; "This fair variety of things "Are merely life's refreshing springs, "Enthusiast go, unstring thy lyre, "Enthusiast go, try every sense, THE HERMIT. A BALLAD. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH, M. B. "TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, "For here, forlorn and lost, I tread, "With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, "Seem lengthening as I go." Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; "For yonder phantom only 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 Power 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 supplied, Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; Soft as the dew from heaven descends, The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure A refuge to the neighboring poor, No stores beneath his humble thatch And now, when busy crowds retire The hermit trimm'd his little fire, And spread his vegetable store, Around, in sympathetic mirth, But nothing could a charm impart His rising cares the hermit spied, With answering cares oppress'd: "And whence, unhappy youth!" he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast? |