My blessing and repose.
“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 supply’d,
And water from the spring.
“Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earthborn cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
Soft as the dew from heav’n 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 thatch
Requir’d a master’s care;
The wicket opening with a latch,
Receiv’d the harmless pair.
And now when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimm’d his little fire,
And cheer’d his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly prest, and smil’d;
And skill’d in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguil’d.
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger’s woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
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,
Reluctant dost thou rove;
Or grieve for friendship unreturn’d,
Or unregarded love?
“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,
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?
“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
And spurn the sex,” he said:
But while he spoke a rising blush
His lovelorn guest betray’d.
Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o’er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confessed
A maid in all her charms.
“And, ah, forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn,” she cry’d;
“Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.
“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,
He had but only me.
“To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber’d suitors came;
Who prais’d me for imputed charms,
And felt or feign’d a flame.
“Each hour a mercenary crowd,
With richest proffers strove:
Among the rest young Edwin bow’d,
But never talk’d of love.
“In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
“The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refin’d,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.
“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 with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret where he died.
“But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I’ll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
“And there forlorn despairing hid,
I’ll lay me down and die:
’Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.”
“Forbid it heaven!” the hermit cry’d,
And clasp’d her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turn’d to chide,
’Twas Edwin’s self that prest.
“Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see,
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor’d to love and thee.
“Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And ev’ry care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life—my all that’s mine.
“No, never, from this hour to part,
We’ll live and love so true;
The sigh that tends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin’s too.”
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 pride 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. Thornhill had provided music and refreshments, and intended that night giving the young ladies a ball by moonlight, on the grass-plot before our door. “Nor can I deny,” continued he, “but I have an interest in being first to deliver this message, as I expect for my reward to be honoured with miss Sophy’s hand as a partner.” To this my girl replied, that she should have no objection, if she could do it with honour: “But here,” continued she, “is a gentleman,” looking at Mr. Burchell, “who has been my companion in the task for the day, and
