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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 363 |
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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 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 trimmed his little fire And cheered his pensive guest;
And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly pressed and smiled;
And, skilled in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled.
Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries ;
The cricket chirrups on the hearth : The crackling fagot 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. |
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