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362 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go."
" 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 b'ing;
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." |
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