THE 



OR, 



EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 



' TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, 

 And guide my lonely way, 



To where yon taper cheers the vale 

 With hospitable ray : 



' For here forlorn and lost I tread, 

 With fainting steps and slow ; 



Where wilds immeasurably spread, 

 Seem lengthening as I go.' 



4 Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries, 

 4 To tempt the dangerous gloom ; 



For yonder faithless phantom flies 

 To lure thee to thy doom. 



4 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. 



4 Then turn to-night, and freely share 

 Whate'er my cell bestows ; 



My rushy couch and frugal fare, 

 My blessing and repose. 



4 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 aide 



A guiltless feast T 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 thatcb 

 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 trimmed his little fire, 

 And cheered his pensive guest; 



