THE HERMIT. TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, 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." "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 My rushy couch and frugal fare, "No flocks that range the valley free I learn to pity them: "But from the mountain's grassy side A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, "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 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, Anu cheer'd his pensive guest: And spread his vegetable store, And gaily prest, and smil❜d; And skill'd in legendary lore, H 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, Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, "Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things, |