For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.

Forbear, my son, 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 still;

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 reposé.

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 grassy side, A guiltless feast I bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 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 wrong.

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 neighbouring poor,
And stranger led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch

Requir❜d a master's care;
The wicket opening with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now when busy crowds retire
To revels or to rest,

The hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily prest, and smil❜d;
And skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguil'd.

Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries;

The cricket chirrups on the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.

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

His rising cares the hermit 'spied,
With answering cares opprest:
And whence, unhappy youth, he cried,
The sorrows of thy breast?

From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove;

Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?

Alas! the joys that fortune brings,

Are trifling, and decay;

And those that prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they.

And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?

And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest ; ·
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

For shame, fond youth; thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex, he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd! he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling 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 confest
A maid in all her charms.

And, ah, forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn, she cried:
Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.

But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray ;:
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her wayers ganadi Ay

My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd for mine,
He had but only me.

To win me from his tender arms
Unnumber'd suitors came :

Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt or feign'd a flame.

Each hour the mercenary crowd,
With richest presents strove :
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refin'd,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.

The dew, the blossom on the tree,

With charms inconstant shine;

Their charms were his, but woe is me, Their constancy was mine.