THE HERMIT. BY BAL L Am D. DR. GOLD S MIT H. TUR URN, gentle hermit of the dale, "To where yon taper cheers the vale, "For here forlorn and loft I tread, "Forbear my fon," the hermit cries, To tempt the dang'rous gloom; "For yonder faithlefs phantom flies "To lure thee to thy doom." P "Here to the houseless child of want, 66 My door is open ftill; "And tho' my portion is but scant, "I give it with good will. "Then turn to-night, and freely share "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; "For earth-born cares are wrong: "Man wants but little here below, "Nor wants that little long." Soft as the dew from heav'n defcends, Far in a wilderness obfcure A refuge to the neighbouring poor, No ftores beneath its humble thatch The wicket op'ning with a latch, And now when bufy crowds retire And fpread his vegetable ftore, Around in fympathetic mirth But nothing could a charm impart His rifing cares the hermit fpy'd, With anfw'ring care oppreft: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, "The forrows of thy breast? "From better habitations spurn'd, "Reluctant doft thou rove: "Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, "Or unregarded love? "Alas the joys that fortune brings, "Are trifling and decay; "And thofe who prize the paltry things,~ "More trifling ftill than they. "And what is friendship but a name, "A charm that lulls to fleep; "A fhade that follows wealth or fame, "And leaves the wretch to weep? "And love is ftill an emptier found, "For fhame, fond youth, thy forrows hush, "And fpurn the fex," he faid: But while he spoke, a rifing blush His love-lorn gueft betray'd. Surpriz'd he fees new beauties rife, The bashful look, the rifing breast, "And, ah, forgive a franger rude, "But let a maid thy pity fhare, "My father liv'd beside the Tyne, "To win me from his tender arms, Who prais'd me for imputed charms, "Each hour a mercenary crowd 36 "In humble, fimpleft habit clad, "The bloffom op'ning to the day, "The dew, the bloffoms of the tree, "With charms inconftant shine; "Their charms were his, but woe to me, "Their conftancy was mine. "For ftill I try'd each fickle art, "Importunate and vain ; "And while his paffion touch'd my heart, "I triumph'd in his pain. " "Till quite dejected with my scorn, "But mine the forrow, mine the fault, "I'll feek the folitude he fought, "And there, forlorn, defpairing hid, |