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From “The Vicar of Wakefield”
“TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, | |
| And guide my lonely way | |
| To where yon taper cheers the vale | |
| With hospitable ray. | |
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| “For here forlorn and lost I tread, | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| For yonder faithless phantom flies | |
| To lure thee to thy doom. | |
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| “Here to the houseless child of want | |
| My door is open still; | |
| And though my portion is but scant, | 15 |
| I give it with good will. | |
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| “Then turn to-night, and freely share | |
| Whate’er my cell bestows; | |
| My rushy couch and frugal fare, | |
| My blessing and repose. | 20 |
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| “No flocks that range the valley free | |
| To slaughter I condemn; | |
| Taught by that Power that pities me, | |
| I learn to pity them: | |
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| “But from the mountain’s grassy side | 25 |
| A guiltless feast I bring; | |
| A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, | |
| And water from the spring. | |
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| “Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; | |
| All earth-born cares are wrong: | 30 |
| Man wants but little here below, | |
| Nor wants that little long.” | |
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| Soft as the dew from heaven descends, | |
| His gentle accents fell: | |
| The modest stranger lowly bends, | 35 |
| And follows to the cell. | |
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| Far in a wilderness obscure | |
| The lonely mansion lay; | |
| A refuge to the neighboring poor, | |
| And strangers led astray. | 40 |
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| No stores beneath its humble thatch | |
| Required a master’s care: | |
| The wicket, opening with a latch, | |
| Received the harmless pair. | |
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| And now, when busy crowds retire | 45 |
| To take their evening rest, | |
| The Hermit trimmed his little fire, | |
| And cheered his pensive guest; | |
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| And spread his vegetable store, | |
| And gayly pressed and smiled; | 50 |
| And, skilled in legendary lore, | |
| The lingering hours beguiled. | |
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| Around, in sympathetic mirth, | |
| Its tricks the kitten tries; | |
| The cricket chirrups on the hearth; | 55 |
| The crackling fagot flies. | |
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| But nothing could a charm impart | |
| To soothe the stranger’s woe; | |
| For grief was heavy at his heart, | |
| And tears began to flow. | 60 |
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| His rising cares the Hermit spied, | |
| With answering care opprest: | |
| “And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried, | |
| “The sorrows of thy breast? | |
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| “From better habitations spurned, | 65 |
| Reluctant dost thou rove? | |
| Or grieve for friendship unreturned, | |
| Or unregarded love? | |
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| “Alas! the joys that fortune brings | |
| Are trifling, and decay; | 70 |
| And those who prize the paltry things | |
| More trifling still than they. | |
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| “And what is friendship but a name, | |
| A charm that lulls to sleep; | |
| A shade that follows wealth or fame, | 75 |
| And leaves the wretch to weep? | |
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| “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. | 80 |
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| “For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush, | |
| And spurn the sex,” he said; | |
| But while he spoke, a rising blush | |
| His lovelorn guest betrayed. | |
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| Surprised, he sees new beauties rise, | 85 |
| Swift mantling to the view; | |
| Like colors o’er the morning skies, | |
| As bright, as transient too. | |
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| The bashful look, the rising breast, | |
| Alternate spread alarms: | 90 |
| The lovely stranger stands confest | |
| A maid in all her charms. | |
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| “And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, | |
| A wretch forlorn,” she cried; | |
| “Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude | 95 |
| Where heaven and you reside. | |
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| “But let a maid thy pity share, | |
| Whom love has taught to stray; | |
| Who seeks for rest, but finds despair | |
| Companion of her way. | 100 |
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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. | |
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| “To win me from his tender arms, | 105 |
| Unnumbered suitors came; | |
| Who praised me for imputed charms, | |
| And felt, or feigned, a flame. | |
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| “Each hour a mercenary crowd | |
| With richest proffers strove: | 110 |
| Among the rest young Edwin bowed, | |
| But never talked of love. | |
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| “In humble, simplest habit clad, | |
| No wealth or power had he; | |
| Wisdom and worth were all he had, | 115 |
| But these were all to me. | |
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| “And when beside me in the dale | |
| He carolled lays of love, | |
| His breath lent fragrance to the gale | |
| And music to the grove. | 120 |
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| “The blossom opening to the day, | |
| The dews of heaven refined, | |
| Could naught of purity display | |
| To emulate his mind. | |
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| “The dew, the blossoms of the tree, | 125 |
| With charms inconstant shine; | |
| Their charms were his, but, woe to me! | |
| Their constancy was mine. | |
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| “For still I tried each fickle art, | |
| Importunate and vain; | 130 |
| And while his passion touched my heart, | |
| I triumphed in his pain: | |
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| “Till, quite dejected with my scorn, | |
| He left me to my pride; | |
| And sought a solitude forlorn, | 135 |
| In secret, where he died. | |
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| “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. | 140 |
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| “And there forlorn, despairing, hid, | |
| I ’ll lay me down and die; | |
| ’T was so for me that Edwin did, | |
| And so for him will I.” | |
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| “Forbid it, Heaven!” the Hermit cried, | 145 |
| And clasped her to his breast: | |
| The wondering fair one turned to chide,— | |
| ’T was Edwin’s self that pressed. | |
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| “Turn, Angelina, ever dear, | |
| My charmer, turn to see | 150 |
| Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, | |
| Restored to love and thee. | |
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| “Thus let me hold thee to my heart, | |
| And every care resign: | |
| And shall we never, never part, | 155 |
| My life,—my all that ’s mine? | |
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| “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.” | 160 |
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