the sense. But perhaps, Madam, while I thus reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity to retaliate; and indeed I have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introducing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least free from those I have mentioned. A BALLAD. TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, To where yon taper cheers the vale, For here forlorn and lost, I tread, Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'Here, to the houseless child of want, And though my portion is but scant, Then turn to-night, and freely share * No flocks that range the valley free, Taught by that Power that pities me, But from the mountain's grassy side, A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 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 heav'n descends, Far in a wilderness obscure A refuge to the neighbouring poor, No stores beneath its humble thatch And now, when busy crowds retire Around in sympathetic mirth, But nothing could a charm impart His rising cares the hermit spied, From better habitations spurn'd, • Reluctant dost thou rove? 'Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, "Or unregarded love? G Alas! the joys that fortune brings And those who prize the paltry things, And what is friendship but a name, 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, Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise, The bashful look, the rising breast, And, Ah! forgive a stranger rude, 'But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. 'My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; 'And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, To win me from his tender arms, Each hour a mercenary crowd, 'In humble, simplest habit clad, • Wisdom and worth were all he had, The blossom opening to the day, The dew, the blossom on the tree, For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain : 7 "Andwhile his passion touch'd my heart 'I triumph'd in his pain. • Till quite dejected with my scorn, 'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault And there forlorn, despairing hid, 'Forbid it, heav'n!' the hermit cried, Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 'Restor❜d to love and thee. My life-my all that's mine! 'No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true: "The sigh that rends thy constant heart, While this ballad was reading Sophia seemed to mix an air of tenderness with her approbation. But our tranquillity was soon disturbed by the report of a gun just by us, and immediately after, a man was seen bursting through the hedge, to take up the game he had killed. This sportsman was the squire's chaplain, who had shot one of the blackbirds that so agreeably entertained us. So loud a report, and so near, startled my daughters; and I could perceive that Sophia in the fright had thrown herself into Mr. Burchell's arms for protection, The gentleman came up, and asked pardon for having disturbed us, affirming that he was ignorant of our being so near. He, therefore, sat down by my youngest daughter, and, sportsman like, offered her what he had killed that morning. She was going to refuse, but a private look from her mother soon induced her to correct the mistake; and accept his present, though with some reluctance. My wife, as usual, discovered her pirde in a whisper; observing, that Sophy had made a conquest of the chaplain, as well as her sister had of the squire. I suspected, however, with more probability, that her affections were placed upon a different object. The chaplain's errand was to inform us, that Mr. Thorn |