Slike strani

" 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;

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“ 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 supply'd,

“ And water from the spring.

“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

The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,

And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket op'ning with a latch,

Receiv'd 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 prest, and smil'd; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The ling'ring hours beguil'd

Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries;

The cricket chirrups in the heart ;

The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart

To soothe the stranger's woe;

For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the Hermit spy'd,

With answering care opprest: " And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd,

“ The sorrows of thy breast?

“ From better habitations spurn’d,

6 Reluctant dost thou rove;

“ Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,

“ Or unregarded love?

66 Alas! the joys that fortune brings,

6 Are trifling, and decay; " And those who prize the paltry things,

6 More trifling still than they.

« And what is friendship but a name,

« A charm that lulls to sleep;

“ A shade that follows wealth or fame,

" But leaves the wretch to weep?

« And love is still an emptier sound,

« The modern fair-one's jest;

« On earth unseen, or only found

“ To warm the turtle's nest.

“ 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.

Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,

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