Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigors of the inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain,
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him that states, of native strength possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

A BALLAD.

TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way

To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray:

For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.

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
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 rusty 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 bring;

A scrip with herbs and fruit 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.

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
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

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,
Reluctant dost thou rove?

Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love?

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,
A charm that lulls to sleep:
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?

And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair-one's jest ;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.

For shame! fond youth, thy sorrows hush,

And spurn the sex! he said:

But, while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betrayed.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms;

The lovely stranger stands confessed
A maid in all her charms.

And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn, she cried,
Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside!

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,
He had but only me.