THE HERMIT.

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

THIS and "The Friar of Orders Gray" were written nearly at the same time; and they are both indebted, for some parts of the narrative and imagery, to an old fragment,-" The Gentle Herdsman," printed in Percy's Reliques, v. 2, 87. Dr. Percy has, in addition, embodied in his poem, several little fragments of old ballads, now lost, contained in the plays of Shakspeare.

"TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
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."

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Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,

"To tempt the dangerous gloom!

For yonder faithless phantom flies

To lure thee to thy doom.

"Which the base vulgar do call" Jack o' the Lantern. A legend of a certain FRIAR JOHN, appears in old times to have been, somehow or other,

"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.

popularly connected with this treacherous luminary; at least, in the absence of opportunity for further search, we may infer as much from the words of Milton:

"She was pinched and pulled, she said,

And he by FRIAR's lantern led."-L'Allegro.

The Ignis Fatuus, i. e. wild-fire, according to Volta, consists of inflammable air, produced by the dissolution of vegetable matter contained in marshy places, and fired by the electric properties of fogs and other atmospheric agencies. Another meteoric appearance, commonly seen on the banks of rivers, is styled Draco Volans, i. e. Flying Dragon, and is of a more dense nature than the first, adhering to the clothes of those who approach it, without the slightest combustible effect. The different properties of various earthy meteors are thus alluded to by Thomson:

"Drear is the state of the benighted wretch,

Who then, bewildered, wanders through the dark,
Full of pale fancies, and chimeras huge;
Nor visited by one directive ray,
From cottage streaming, or from airy hall.
Perhaps, impatient as he stumbles on,
Struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue,
The Wild-fire scatters round, or gathered trails
A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss:
Whither decoyed by the fantastic blaze,
Now lost, and now renewed, he sinks absorpt,-
Rider and horse,- amid the miry gulph;
While still, from day to day, his pining wife,
And plaintive children, his return await,-
In wild conjecture lost. At other times,
Sent by the better genius of the night,—
Innoxious, gleaming on the horse's mane,
The meteor sits; and shews the narrow path,

That winding leads through pits of death, or else

Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford."-Autumn. ED.

"No flocks, that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn :

Taught by that Power who 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 supplied,
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,
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 neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care:
The wicket, opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily pressed and smiled;
And, skilled in legendary lore,

The lingering 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 soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit 'spied,
With answering care opprest :
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast.

"From better habitations spurned,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
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.

* This, with many other pictorial descriptions in this ballad, have ever gained the admiration of all readers of taste and feeling. They are especially the delight of children—and they are by no means the worst judges of what is true to nature; and if the sight of these, in after-life, should excite a vivid recollection of that happy and innocent age, the effect on the mind must certainly be pleasing, and might be improving and beneficial.-ED.

"For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush,

And spurn the sex," he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betrayed.

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 confest,
A maid in all her charms!

And, "Ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn (she cried);
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.

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My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy Lord was he;

And all his wealth was marked as mine,
He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms,

Unnumbered suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt or feigned a flame.

"Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove;

Among the rest young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love.