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from one * by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Peroy some years ago ; and he (as we both considered these things as trifles at best) told me, with his usual good humour, the next time I saw 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 so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing : and, were it not for the busy disposition of some of your correspondents, the Publiç should 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 important nature.

I am, Sir,

Yours, &c.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

* The Friar of Orders Gray. “ Reliq. of Anc. Poetry," vol. i. p. 243

THE HERMIT.

TURN, gentle Hermit of the daile, “ 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; u Where wilds immeasurably spread,

“ Seem length’ning as I go."

“ Forbear, my son," the Hermít cries,

“ To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies, “ To lure thee to thy doom.

66 Here to the houseless child of want My door is

open

still 1; “ And though my portion is but scant,

6 I give it with good will.

“ Then turn to-night, and freely share

6. 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:

66 But from the mountain's

grassy

side “ A guiltless feast I bring; “ A scrip, with herbs and fruits supply'd,

66 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 :

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Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth ;

The crackling faggot Aies.

But nothing could a charm impart

To sooth the stranger's-woe; For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.

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