Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, EDWIN AND ANGELINA. A BALLAD. TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, To where yon taper cheers the vale For here forlorn and lost I tread, Forbear, my son, the Hermit cries, To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder phantom only flies To lure thee to thy doom. Here to the houseless child of want And, though my portion is but scant, Then turn to-night, and freely share No flocks that range the valley free, Taught by that Power that pities me, But from the mountain's grassy side A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied, Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; 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. But nothing could a charm impart Ilis rising cares the Hermit spied, With answering care oppressed; And whence, unhappy youth, he cried, The sorrows of thy breast. From better habitations spurned, Or grieve for friendship unreturned, 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, For shame! fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex! he said: But, while he spoke, a rising blush Surprised he sees new beauties rise, The bashful look, the rising breast, The lovely stranger stands confessed 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 lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he ; And all his wealth was marked as mine, |