“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 who 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; 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 Requir’d a master’s care; The wicket, opening with a latch, Receiv’d the harmless pair. And now, when busy crowds retire 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; 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, The crackling faggot flies; [Illustration] 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 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 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, And 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 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.