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.'

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'To tempt the dangerous gloom; For
yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.

'Here to the houseless child of want, My door is open still; And tho' my
portion is but scant, I give it with good will.

'Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy
couch, and frugal fare, 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 earth-born 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 sooth 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