No stores beneath its humble thatch

Required a master's care ;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,

Received the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire,

To take their ev'ning rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive guest ;
And spread his vegetable store,

And gayly press'd and smiled; And, skilled in legendary lore,

The ling'ring hours beguiled.
Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling fagot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart

To sooth the stranger's wo;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the hermit spied,

With answering care oppress'd: “And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,

“ 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,

And 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 blush,

And spurn the sex,” he said; But, while he spoke, a rising blush

His love-lorn 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 confess’d,

A maid in all her charms.
And, “ Ah! forgive a stranger rude,

A wretch forlorn,” she cried ;
• Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude

Where Heav'n 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 lived 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 suiters came;
Who praised 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.

6

“ In humble, simplest habit clad,

No wealth nor pow'r had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had,

But these were all to me.

“ The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of Heav'n refined, Could naught of purity display

To emulate his mind.

“ The dew, the blossoms of 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 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 cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast, The wondering fair one turn'd to chide'Twas Edwin's self that press’d.

T2

“ Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restored to love and thee.
6 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,

We'll live and love so true,
The sigh that rends thy constant heart

Shall break thy Edwin's too.”

STANZAS ON WOMAN.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds, too late, that men betray, What charm can sooth her melancholy !

What art can wash her guilt away? The only art, her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom, is—to die.

SONG.

The wretch condemn'd with life to part

Still, still on hope relies;
And every pang that rends the heart,

Bids expectation rise.
Hope, like the glimmering taper's light,

Adorns and cheers the way,
And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray.

FROM THE

MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS