He then read me his little cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce 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 hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more important nature. I am, Sir, Yours, &c. THE HERMIT. TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, For here forlorn and lost I tread, '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, '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 fruit 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 Far in a wilderness obscure No stores beneath his humble thatch And now, when busy crowds retiré The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And spread his vegetable store, Around in sympathetic mirth But nothing could a charm impart His rising cares the Hermit spies, "From better habitations spurn'd, Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, "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, And love is still an emptier sound, "For shame, fond youth thy sorrows hush, Surpris'd be sees new beauties rise, The bashful look, the rising breast, And, 'Ah, forgive a stranger rude, But let a maid thy pity share, |