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to, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarcely worth printing; and, were it not for the busy disposition of some of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the bint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his frendship and learning for communications of a much more important nature.--I am, Sir, yours, etc.
* TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.
For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow, Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem length’ning as I go.'
• Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries,
• To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
• Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still ; And though 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 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;
All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.'
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell :
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure,
The lonely mansion lay,
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
Received the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd and smiled; And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.
Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The crackling fagot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the Hermit spied,
With answering care oppress'd : And, · Whence unhappy youth,' he cried,
• The sorrows of thy breast?
• From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?
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.
And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
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
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view; Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms :
A maid in all her charms.
And, ' Ah! forgive a stranger rude
A wretch forlorn,' she cried : • Whose feet unhallow'd 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 way.
My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he:
He had but only me.