Down, that anchors on the air; Seas, that smoothly dimpling lie, Will the ftork, intending reft, Will the bee demand his ftore From the bleak and bladelefs fhore? Man alone, intent to stray, Ever turns from wifdom's way; Lays up wealth in foreign land, Sows the fea, and ploughs the fand. Soon this elemental mass, Soon th' incumb'ring world shall pafs; Form be wrapt in wasting fire, Time be spent, and life expire. Then, ye boasted works of men, Gone, like traces on the deep, Pafs the world, and what's behind? From the wreck of nature fav'd. Like the life-fupporting grain, What though hoftile earth despise, When th' fatal trump fhall found, Little native of the skies, Lovely Penitent, arife! Calm thy bofom, clear thy brow, Virtue is thy fifter now. More delightful are my woes Than the rapture Pleasure knows; On my wars, of shortest date, On my cares a period bless'd; Come, with Virtue at thy fide; 66 GOLDSMITH. EDWIN AND ANGELINA, A BALLAD. TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, "And guide my lonely way, "To where yon taper cheers the vale For here forlorn and loft I tread, Forbear, my fon,' the Hermit cries, To lure thee to thy doom. Here to the houseless child of want And though my portion is but fcant, $ I give it with good will Then turn to-night, and freely share My ruthy couch and frugal fare, No flocks that range the valley free • But from the mountain's graffy fide A fcrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, And water from the fpring. Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego All earth-born cares are wrong: Soft as the dew from heav'n defcends, The modeft stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obfcure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighb'ring poor, No fores beneath its humble thatch Requir'd a master's care; Receiv'd the harmless pair. And now, when bufy crowds retire To take their ev’ning reft, The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his penfive gueft; And spread his vegetable store, But nothing could a charm impart, His rifing cares the Hermit spy'd, From better habitations fpurn'd, • Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, 'Or unregarded love? Alas! the joys that Fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things And what is Friendship but a name ; |