“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 earthborn 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: 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 strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master’s care; The wicket, opening with a latch Received the harmless pair. And now when busy crowds retire To take their evening rest, The Hermit trimmed his little fire, And cheered 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 churrups in 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 spy’d, With answ’ring 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 unreturn’d, 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; 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.