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By Dr. GOLDSMITH.
URN, gentle hermit of the dale
"To where yon taper cheers the vale,
"For here forlorn and loft I tread,
"With fainting step and flow;
"Where wilds immeafurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.".
"Forbear, my fon," the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom; "For yonder phantom only flies "To lure thee to thy doom.
Here to the houseless child of want,
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 "Whate'er my cell bestows;
66 My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My bleffing and repose.
"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 feast I bring;
"A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd,
"And water from the spring.
"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,
His gentle accents fell,
The grateful stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
Far fhelter'd in a glade obfcure
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,
No ftores beneath its humble thatch,
The door juft opening with a latch,
And now when worldly crowds retire
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And spread his vegetable ftore,
And skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguil'd.
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To foothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow:
His rifing cares the hermit spy'd,
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd,
"From better habitations fpurn'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 those 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, "But leaves the wretch to weep?
"And love is ftill an emptier found,
"To warm the turtle's neft.
"For fhame, fond youth, thy forrows hush,
"And spurn the fex," he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
He fees unnumber'd beauties rife,
Expanding to the view;
Like clouds that deck the morning skies,
Her looks, her lips, her panting breaft,
The lovely ftranger ftands confeft
A maid in all her charms.
"Ah! forgive a ftranger rude, "A wretch forlorn," fhe cry'd; "Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude "Where heav'n and you refide.
"But let a maid thy pity fhare,
My father liv'd befide the Tyne,
"A wealthy lord was he;
"And all his wealth was mark'd as mine;
"He had but only me.