"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, "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; Soft as the dew from heaven descends, 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; And now, when busy crowds retire And spread his vegetable store, The lingering hours beguiled. Around, in sympathetic mirth, · But nothing could a charm impart His rising cares the hermit spied, "And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, "Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; 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, Surprised, 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 despairCompanion of her way. "My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was marked as mine He had but only me. To win me from his tender arms, Who praised me for imputed charms, "Each hour a mercenary crowd "In humble, simplest habit clad, "And when, beside me in the dale, His breath lent fragrance to the gale, "The blossom opening to the day, The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but, wo to me! Their constancy was mine. "For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his passion touched my heart I triumphed in his pain: "Till quite dejected with my scorn, In secret, where he died. "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, "And there forlorn, despairing, hid, "Forbid it Heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast: The wondering fair one turned to chide'Twas Edwin's self that pressed! "Turn, Angelina, ever dear! My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign: And shall we never, never part, My life my all that's mine? "No! never from this hour to part, The sigh that rends thy constant heart |