“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: 
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 trimm’d his little fire,
And cheer’d his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily pressed, and smiled;
And, skill’d in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups on the hearth,
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.

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 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 are 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.

Surprised 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 confess’d
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.”