And now my eyes with transport rove
O’er all the blue expanse above,

Unbroken by a cloud!
And now beneath delighted pass
Where, winding through the deep green grass,

A full-brimm'd river flow’d.

I stop, I gaze; in accents rude,
To thee, serenest Solitude,

Burst forth th' unbidden lay;

Begone, vile world, the learn'd, the wise, 6 The great, the busy, I despise,

6 And pity ev’n the gay. 66 These, these are joys alone, I cry; « 'Tis here, divine Philosophy,

66 Thou deign'st to fix thy throne ! 66 Here Contemplation points the road 56 Through Nature's charms to Nature's God!

66 These, these are joys alone !

6 Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, 6 Ye human hopes, and human fears,

“ Ye pleasures, and ye pains !" While thus I spake, o'er all my soul A philosophic calmness stole,

A stoic stillness reigns.
The tyrant passions all subside;
Fear, anger, pity, shame, and pride,

No more my bosom move;
Yet still I felt, or seem'd to feel,
A kind of visionary zeal

Of universal love.

When lo! a voice, a voice I hear!
'Twas Reason whisper'd in my ear

These monitory strains: 66 What mean'st thou, inan? wouldst thou unbind “The ties which constitute thy kind,

“ The pleasures and the pains ?

«« The same Almighty Power unseen,
6 Who spreads the gay or solemn scene

66 To Contemplation's eye,
« Fix'd every movement of the soul,
“ Taught every wish its destined goal,

6 And quicken'd every joy. “ He bids the tyrant passions rage, “ He bids them war eternal wage,

66 And combat each his foe: 66 Till from dissensions concords risé, 6 And beauties from deformities,

s6 And happiness from woe.

16 Art thou not man, and darest thou find C6 A bliss which leans not to mankind ?

“ Presumptuous thought and vain! 6 Each bliss unshared is unenjoy’d, ** Each power is weak, unless employ'd

• Some social good to gain. * Shall light, and shade, and warmth, and air. 6 With those exalted joys compare

66 Which active virtue feels! - When on she drags, as lawful prize,

Contempt, and Indolence, and Vice, *. At her triumphant wheels!

66 As rest to labor still succeeds
“ To man, whilst Virtue's glorious deeds

“Employ his toilsome day;
“ This fair variety of things
“ Are merely life's refreshing springs,

66 To soothe him on his way. “ Enthusiast go, unstring thy lyre, 6. In vain thou sing'st, if none admire,

6. How sweet soe'er the strain. 66 And is not thy o'erflowing mind, 66 Unless thou mixest with thy kind,

66 Benevolent in vain ?

66 Enthusiast go, try every sense, 66 If not thy bliss, thy excellence,

6. Thou yet hast learn’d to scan; 66 At least thy wants, thy weakness know, “ And see them all uniting show

66 That man was made for man."

THE HERMIT.

A BALLAD.

BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH, M. B.

" TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,

6 And guide my lonely way, 36 To where yon taper cheers the vale, “ With hospitable ray.

“For here, forlorn and lost, I tread,

6 With fainting steps and slow ; 56 Where wilds, immeasurably spread,

6 Seem lengthening as I go.” - Forbear, my son,” the hermit cries,

“ To tempt the dangerous gloom; “ For yonder phantom only flies,

66. 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

66 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 : 56 Taught by that Power that pities me,

66 I learn to pity them. “ But, from the mountain's grassy side,

6 A guiltless feast I bring; “ A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,

66 And water from the spring. baba Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;

66 For earth-born cares are wrong:
Mau wants but little here below,

66 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 neighboring poor,

And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath his humble thatch

Required a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,

Received the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire

To revels or to 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 on 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 cares oppress’d: “ And whence, unhappy youth!” he cried,

“ The sorrows of thy breast ?