Yet still, even here, content can sp.ead a charm,

Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small,

He sees his little lot the lot of all;
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head,
To shame the meanness of his humble
shed;

No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal,

To make him loth his vegetable meal ; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.

Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose,

Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;

With patient angle trolls the finny deep, Or drives his venturous ploug share to the steep;

Or seeks the den where snow-tricks mark

Honour, that praise which real merit gains,

Or even imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,

It shifts in splendid traffic round the land: From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,

And all are taught an avarice of praise; They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem,

Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.

But while this softer art their bliss supplies,

It gives their follies also room to rise: For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought,

Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools

impart ;

Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robe of frieze with copper

lace;

Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,

To boast one splendid banquet once a

Have we not seen at pleasure's lordl call,

The smiling long-frequented' village fall? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, The modest matron, and the blushing maid,

Forced from their homes, a melancholy train,

To traverse climes beyond the western main;

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,

And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound?

Even now, perhaps, as there some pil. grim strays

Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways;

Where beasts with man divided empire claim,

And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim;

There, while above the giddy tempest flies,

And all around distressful yells arise,
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,
The pensive exile, bending with his woe,
Casts a long look where England's
glories shine,

And bids his bosom sympathise with mine.

"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 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,
The modest stranger lowly bends,
His gentle accents fell;

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
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 trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive guest :

And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily press'd, and smiled ; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled. 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 spied,

With answering care opprest: "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?