Chorus of Virgins. Cyrus comes, the world redressing, Semi-Chorus. Hail to him with mercy reigning, Skill'd in every peaceful art; Last Chorus. But chief to Thee, our God, defender, friend, THE HERMIT. A BALLAD. "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 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: His rising cares the Hermit spied, "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "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 trifling things, "And what is friendship but a name; "And love is still an emptier sound, On earth unseen, or only found "For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex," he said; But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd. Surprised he sees new beauties rise, The bashful look, the rising breast, "And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, "But let a maid thy pity share, "My father lived beside 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, Who praised me for imputed charms, "Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove ; Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love. "In humble, simplest habit clad, "And, when beside me in the dale His breath lent fragrance to the gale, "The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display To emulate his mind. "The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but woe to me! Their constancy was mine. "For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain: And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain: |