22 Silence ensu'd; and Edwin raised his eyes. "Hail Poverty! if honour, wealth, and art, "If what the great pursue, and learn'd admire, "Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!" 23 He said, and turn'd away; nor did the Sage The Youth, his rising sorrow to assuage, Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills. * How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank. Shakespeare. 6. T. Rurney. And kneeling licked the witherd hand, that tied A wreathe of woodbine round his antlers tall. 24 But he from day to day more anxious grew, The voice still seem'd to vibrate on his ear. Nor durst he hope the Hermit's tale untrue; For man he seem'd to love, and heaven to fear; And none speaks false, where there is none to hear. "Yet, can man's gentle heart become so fell! "No more in vain conjecture let me wear "My hours away, but seek the Hermit's cell; ""Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel." 25 At early dawn the Youth his journey took, And many a mountain pass'd and valley wide, And hung his lofty neck with many a flow'ret small. E 26 And now the hoary Sage arose, and saw "Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from whence? 66 Why roam thy steps to this sequester'd dale?" "A shepherd-boy (the Youth replied) far hence "My habitation; hear my artless tale; "Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail. 27 "Late as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms, "I reach'd at eve this wilderness profound; And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms, "Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound, (For in thy speech I recognise the sound.) "You mourn'd for ruin'd man, and virtue lost, "Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss'd. |