‘For here, forlorn and lost I tread, 5 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; 10 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, 15 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. 20 ‘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 25 A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. ‘Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forgo; All earth-born cares are wrong: 30 Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.’ Soft as the dew from heav’n descends, His gentle accents fell: The modest stranger lowly bends, 35 And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighbouring poor And strangers led astray. 40 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 45 To take their evening rest, The hermit trimm’d his little fire, And cheer’d his pensive guest: And spread his vegetable store, And gaily press’d, and smil’d; 50 And, skill’d in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguil’d. Around in sympathetic mirth Its tricks the kitten tries; The cricket chirrups in the hearth; 55 The crackling faggot 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. 60 His rising cares the hermit spied, With answ’ring care oppress’d; ‘And whence, unhappy youth,’ he cried, ‘The sorrows of thy breast? ‘From better habitations spurn’d, 65 Reluctant dost thou rove; Or grieve for friendship unreturn’d, Or unregarded love?