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Here to the houseless child of want,
My door is open ftill;
"And tho' my portion is but fcant, "I give it with good will.
"Then turn to-night, and freely share
“No flocks that range the valley free,
"But from the mountain's graffy fide
"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
Soft as the dew from heav'n descends,
Far in a wilderness obfcure
No ftores beneath its humble thatch
The wicket op'ning with a latch,
And now when bufy crowds retire
And fpread his vegetable ftore,
Around in fympathetic mirth
But nothing could a charm impart
His rifing cares the hermit fpy'd,
With anfw'ring care oppreft: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, "The forrows of thy breaft?
"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,
"And love is ftill an emptier found,
"For fhame, fond youth, thy forrows hufh, "And fpurn the fex," he faid: But while he spoke, a rifing blush His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpriz'd he fees new beauties. rife,
The bashful look, the rising breast,
"And, ah, forgive a ftranger rude,
"But let a maid thy pity fhare,
"My father liv'd befide 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
"In humble, fimpleft habit clad,
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 blossoms of the tree, "With charms inconftant fhine;
"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 fcorn,
"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 there, forlorn, despairing hid,
Forbid it, Heav'n!" the hermit cry'd, And clafp'd her to his breast: The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's self that prest.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear, "My charmer, turn to fee "Thy own, thy long-loft Edwin here, "Reftor'd to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart, "And ev'ry care refign:
"And fhall we never, never part,
my all that's mine.
"No, never, from this hour to part, "We'll live and love fo true,
"The figh that rends thy conftant heart,
"Shan break thy Edwin's too.