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DEIGN, saint-like tenant of the dale,

To guide my nightly way
To yonder fire that chears the vale

With hospitable ray.
For here, deserted, as I tread

With fainting steps and flow,
The wild, immeasurably spread,

Seems lengthening as I go.

Forbear,

Forbear, my son, the fage replies,

To tempt the lonely gloom, For yonder faithless phantom flies

To lure thee to thy doom.

Here to the houseless child of want

My door is open fill,
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,
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 graffy fide

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

And water from the spring,

Then trav'ller turn, thy cares forego,

For earth-born cares are wrong ; se Man wants but little here below,

“ Nor wants that little long.".

Soft

Soft as the dew from 'heav'n descends,

His gentlé accents fell,
The modeft ftranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay,
A refuge to th’ unfhelter'd poor,

And strangers led aftray.
No ftores beneath its humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care,
But the door, op'ning with a latch,

Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire

To take their evening rest,
The hermit trim'd his pleasant fire,

And cheard his penfive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily prest and smild, And, ikill'd in legendary lore,

The ling’ring hours beguild.

While round, in sympathetic mirth,

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

The crackling faggot flies.

But

But nothing mirthful could assuage

The pensive stranger's woe,
For grief had seiz'd his early age,

And tears would often flow.

His rising cares the hermit spyd,

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

The sorrows of thy breast ?

From better habitations spurn’d,

Reluctant dost thou rove,
Or grieve for friendship unreturnd,

Or unregarded love?
Alas ! the joys that fortune brings,

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

More trifling still than they.

Say, what is friendship? but a name,

A charm that lulls to seep ;
A Made that follows wealth or fame,

But leaves the wretch to weep.

1

And what is love? an empty sound,

The modern fair one's jest ; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nett.

For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hufa,

And spurn the sex, he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpriz'd he sees new beauty rise

Expanding to the view,
Like colours o'er the morning skies,

As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms ;
The lovely stranger stands confeft

A maid in all her charms.

And ah! forgive a stranger rude,

A thing forlorn, she cry'd,
Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude

Where heaven and you reside.

Forgive, and let thy pious care

A heart's distress allay,
That seeks repose, but finds despair

Companion of the way.
My father liv’d, of high degree

Remote beside the Tyne,
And as he had but only me,

His opulence was mine.

To

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