THE

HERMIT.

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 lengthening as I go."

"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous 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 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, And water from the spring.

66 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 heaven 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 neighbouring poor

And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch

Required a master's care;

The wicket, opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.

And now when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd, and smiled;

And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

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 sooth the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied, With answering care oppress'd: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "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.