« No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn : Taught by that pow'r 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 supply'd, 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 heav'n descends, Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay; No stores beneath its humble thatch And now, when busy crowds retire And spread his vegetable store, And gayly prest, and smil'd; And skill'd in legendary lore, Around in sympathetick mirth But nothing could a charm impart His rising cares the hermit spy'd, With answering care opprest: « And whence, unhappy youth », he cry'd, << The sorrows of thy breast? « From better habitations spurn'd, Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, « 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 haughty fair one's jest : On earth unseen, or only found « 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, And all his wealth was mark'd as mine; He had but only me. « To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came;` Who prais'd me for imputed charms, « Each hour a mercenary crowd « In humble simplest habit clad, The blossom opening to the day, « The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine: Their charms were his, but, woe to me! Their constancy was mine. « For still I try'd each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And, while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain. « Till quite dejected by my scorn, « But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, I'll seek the solitude he sought, And there forlorn, despairing, hid, « Forbid it, heav'n!» the hermit cry'd, « Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And shall we never, never part, = No, never, from this hour to part, 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 |