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Open wide the lofty door,
In vain you search, she is not there;
EDWIN AND ANGELINA.
TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
"To where yon taper cheers the vale "With hospitable ray.
"For here forlorn and lost I tread,
"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 though 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 heaven descends,
The modest stranger lowly bends,
Far in a wilderness obscure
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,
The ling'ring 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,
"From better habitations spurn'd,
"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,
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,
But while he spoke, a rising blush
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, "And felt or feign'd a flame.