THE FOLLOWING

LETTER,

ADDRESSED то THE

PRINTER OF THE ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE,

APPEARED IN THAT PAPER, IN JUNE,

MDCCLXVII.

SIR,

As there is nothing I diflike fo much as news

paper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concife as poffible in informing a correfpondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one; and I think fo ftill. I faid, I was told by the bookfeller that it was then firft published; but in that, it feems, I was mif-informed, and my reading was not extenfive enough to fet me right.

Another correfpondent of yours accufes me of having taken a ballad, I published some time ago,

VOL. I.

C

from

*

from one by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in queftion. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, fome years ago; and he (as we both confidered these things as trifles at beft) told me with his ufual good humour, the next time I faw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may fo call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing and, were it not for the bufy difpofition of fome of your correfpondents, the public fhould never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more impor

tant nature.

I am, Sir,

Yours, &c.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

* The Friar of Orders Gray. "Reliq. of Anc. Poetry,"

vol. 1. p. 243.

THE

TURN,

URN, gentle Hermit of the dale, "And guide my lonely way,

"To where yon taper chears the vale "With hofpitable ray.

"For here forlorn and loft I tread,

"With fainting fteps and flow; “Where wilds, immeasurably spread, "Seem length'ning as I go."

"Forbear, my fon," the Hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
"For yonder faithlefs 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,

"Then turn to-night, and freely share "Whate'er my cell beftows;

"My rushy couch and frugal fare,

"No flocks that range the valley free,
"To flaughter I condemn :
"Taught by that power that pities me,
"I learn to pity them :

"But from the mountain's graffy fide

"A guiltless feaft I bring;

"A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd, "And water from the fpring.

"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 defcends,

His gentle accents fell:

The modeft ftranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far

Far in a wilderness obfcure

The lonely mansion lay;

A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led aftray.

No ftores 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 bufy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And chear'd his penfive guest:

And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly preft, and smil'd;
And, fkill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguil'd.

Around in fympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe a stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

C 3

His