[3]
A HERMIT'S TALE: RECORDED BY HIS OWN HAND, AND FOUND IN HIS CELL.
There oft is found an Avarice in Grief;
And the wan Eye of Sorrow loves to gaze
Upon the ſecret Hoard of treaſur'd Woes.
MASON.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, IN THE STRAND. M.DCC.LXXXVII.
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, Eſq.
[]SIR,
EQUALLY induced by a juſt admiration of your talents, and a grateful ſenſe of the diſtinction your praiſe has given to thoſe you were pleaſed to find in me, permit me to ſolicit your further indulgence to this little production; and be aſſured, its greateſt value in my eyes is, that it ſerves to convey thoſe ac⯑knowledgments, with which I have the honour to remain,
SIR,
[]Your moſt obliged, Obedient humble ſervant, SOPHIA LEE.
[...]
A HERMIT's TALE.
[]I.
FROM prime of youth to hoary age
In this lone cell I've dwelt;
Here ſought, by tracing Nature's page,
To ſoothe the pangs I felt.
II.
The moſs-wove oaks that near my cave
In ſullen grandeur ſtand,
And o'er its broken ſummit wave,
Were acorns in my hand.
[2]III.
Thoſe time-ſhook tow'rs, which all forſake,
Erect, and gay, I've ſeen;
And half of yon tranſlucent lake,
A flow'r-enamell'd green.
IV.
When ſhall my penitence and pray'rs
Obtain the boon I crave?
When ſhall my thorny bed of cares
Become my peaceful grave?
V.
Oh worſhipp'd reliques! holy book!
Detain my mental eye;
Nor let it ever backward look
To trace ſad memory.
VI.
Or thou! memorial croſs of God,
My whole attention ſeize!
And bow my heart upon the ſod,
Worn daily by my knees.
[3]VII.
Alas! not Piety can heal
The ſoul convuls'd with guilt;
Nor all her fountains cleanſe the ſteel
Which human blood has ſpilt.
VIII.
Ah! let me eaſe it then, and ſpeak
The long, long treaſur'd tale;
What bitter griefs firſt bade me ſeek
The ſilence of this vale.
IX.
Near Cheviot Hills I drew the air
On Aran's pleaſant plain;
My mother was of preſence fair,
Her ſire an aged ſwain.
X.
To tend the flocks was my employ,
Nor ever heav'd my breaſt,
When my fond mother bleſt her boy,
At riſing, and at reſt.
[4]XI.
Yet oft with tears and ſmiles ſhe ſtrove,
And as I bent my knee,
She'd cry, "be juſter to thy love,
Than mine has been to me."
XII.
Yet little note of this I took,
Unſkill'd in worldly harms,
And more admir'd my flow'r-bound crook,
Than her unequall'd charms.
XIII.
The lowly cot, and ſhepherd's life,
Each night, each morn, ſhe prais'd;
And when they ſpoke of warlike ſtrife,
With terror on me gaz'd.
XIV.
For now the wars of Paleſtine
Brave Coeur de Lion fought;
While all admir'd the zeal divine,
And with his deeds were fraught.
[5]XV.
The glorious talk to me was good;
And as it fill'd my ear,
I ſeem'd to cleave the founding flood,
Or graſp a fancied ſpear.
XVI.
When, lo! the neighbouring Scots, a band
Rough as their native rocks,
Ruſh'd like a whirlwind o'er the land,
And ſwept away our flocks.
XVII.
By many an art my mother try'd
My vengeance to reſtrain;
But anger argument defy'd,
And ev'n her tears were vain.
XVIII.
Each ſwain I bade renounce his crook;
Each ſwain obey'd my voice;
The ravagers we ſoon o'ertook,
And left them not a choice.
[6]XIX.
No parle did either party uſe,
Impell'd by fierce diſdain;
One ſought as men who'd all to loſe,
The other to regain.
XX.
Day faintly purpled o'er the ſky
When the fell fight began;
But ere our ſtubborn foes would fly,
The Sun his courſe had ran.
XXI.
Thus we retriev'd our fleecy ſtore,
So late bewail'd as loſt,
And ſeem'd, I ween, to love them more,
For all the blows they coſt.
XXII.
Not Richard's ſelf his warriors led
More proudly o'er the deep,
Than I for Aran's paſtures ſped,
Surrounded by my ſheep.
[7]XXIII.
As nigh I drew, the clouds did roll
A crimſon o'er the night;
The valley flam'd—and my full ſoul
Died in me at the fight.
XXIV.
Another band of thoſe who roam
Our hamlet had deſtroy'd:
And while we fought to guard our home,
Had made that home a void.
XXV.
A while I wept, and duteous ſought
My parents dear remains;
At length my heart, with vengeance fraught,
An uſeleſs grief diſdains.
XXVI.
I rouz'd the ſwains who yet deplor'd
Each deſolated field;
I turn'd my ſheep-hook to a ſword,
My ſcrip into a ſhield.
[8]XXVII.
The ſavage Scots I ſwore t'annoy
With ever-loud alarms,
And from a ſimple ſhepherd-boy,
Became renown'd in arms.
XXVIII.
Between both lands ſtrong tow'rs I rear
With captive enſigns bright:
One nation gaz'd on them with fear;
The other with delight.
XXIX.
Around I ſtation'd many a band,
Who dubious ſtragglers ſought;
And ah! one day, by love's command,
A matchleſs beauty brought.
XXX.
Her mien majeſtic ſeem'd to ſpeak
Th' unſullied ſoul within;
No roſe like that on her pure cheek
Blooms o'er the face of ſin.
[9]XXXI.
Oh! not in grace the mountain pine
With her ſlight form could vye,
The blue that paints the arch divine
Was faint to her bright eye.
XXXII.
Like a rich group of yellow ſheaves,
In ringlets wild, her hair
Play'd on her breaſt—ſo Autumn leaves
Hang on the lily fair.
XXXIII.
Awe-ſtruck, my ſoul imbib'd a flame
As virtuous as ſincere;
Nor dared I boldly aſk the name,
I moſt deſir'd to hear.
XXXIV.
Unconſcious of her beauty's blaze,
She drew away the ſhade;
With dignity endur'd my gaze,
And thus to ſpeak eſſay'd.
[10]XXXV.
"Although by force I hither bend
"The captive of thy ſword,
"From brutal hands I ſeek a friend,
"Nor need I own a Lord.
XXXVI.
"Of Engliſh blood thy ſervant came,
"Not from a hoſtile line,
"Lord Ethel is my Father's name,
"And Ethelinda mine.
XXXVII.
"To Scotland with my Mother ſent,
"A Grandſire's eyes to cloſe,
"Her ſum of days like his are ſpent,
"With him ſhe finds repoſe.
XXXVIII.
"Ev'n now on ſilver Severn's ſide
"My Father anxiouſly
"Forgets the day my Mother dy'd,
"To look in vain for me.
[11]XXXIX.
"By Knighthood's holy laws, oh Youth!
"I therefore claim your gage,
"That you yield him with care, and truth,
"The darling of his age.
XL.
"So may the peace to him you give
"With large increaſe return;
"So crown'd with conqueſt may you live,
"And glory crown your urn!"
XLI.
"Be ſafe," I cried, "thou lovely Maid;
"By warlike Richard's throne,
"Ne'er ſhall ſhe vainly aſk my aid,
"Whom truth and honor own.
XLII.
"By Knighthood's holy laws I ſwear,
"And give th' unqueſtion'd gage,
"To yield thy Sire, with truth, and care,
"The darling of his age.
[12]XLIII.
"To horſe, to horſe, each vaſſal knight,
"Prepare your burniſh'd arms;
"Diffuſe around a dazzling light,
"To hide, and guard, theſe charms.
XLIV.
"A Nymph beyond ev'n Helen fair,
"Beſtows a nobler truſt;
"A Youth her beauty well might ſnare,
"Is Man, in love—yet juſt."
XLV.
And ſoon my warriors o'er the waſte
In gay profuſion roll;
The Lady in the centre plac'd,
Irradiated the whole.
XLVI.
Still as we journied on, I ſought,
With love's unconſcious art,
T' impreſs myſelf on ev'ry thought,
'Till I had won her heart.
[13]XLVII.
And now my fears would often hint
Her Sire might prove unkind,
And wiſer 'twere our truſt to ſtint,
But duteous was her mind.
XLVIII.
"Ah doubt not, Edmund,"—ſhe would ſay,
"Thy worth muſt all engage;
"Nor dare I ſcorn a father's ſway,
"Nor dare I grieve his age.
XLIX.
"His ſilver'd head, as lilies bow,
"Declining now appears;
"Alike his frame doth tremble now,
"With tenderneſs and years.
L.
"And ſure a fearful joy ſhe knows
"Who unpermitted loves;
"While doubly hallow'd are the vows
"A parent's voice approves."
[14]LI.
"More fondly draws the heart's dear chain,
"When watching his decay;
"Oh! the ſad charm, to know his pain
"In bleſſings melts away!"
LII.
Fill'd with her love, ſooth'd with her hope,
The preſent hour I bleſt;
And gave luxuriant fancy ſcope,
Who more enrich'd the reſt.
LIII.
When now we reach'd fair Severn's ſide,
Where 'mid her faireſt bow'rs,
A mountain ſwell'd with verdant pride,
Crown'd with Lord Ethel's tow'rs.
LIV.
As to the height we gaily wound,
From apprehenſion free,
Surpriz'd we heard the drum's fierce ſound,
Proclaim an enemy.
[15]LV.
Like ſhining ſwarms of bees, in arms
The Knights now multiply;
And pleaſure's notes, and war's alarms,
Our mingling trumpets cry.
LVI.
When proud I did the Lady ſhew,—
Who bade all diſcord ceaſe;
More radiant than the vernal bow,
Heav'ns own bright pledge of peace,
LVII.
Her name, in various accents cried,
Was borne away within,
While the vaſt portals opening wide,
Increas'd the joyful din.
LVIII.
Forth ruſh'd, tumultuous as the wind,
Knights who no longer frown'd;
But marching with their ſpears declin'd,
A mute obedience own'd.
[16]LIX.
At once, dividing to each ſide,
Like waves the train retire;
And as the ſwan floats with the tide,
Slow came the rev'rend Sire.
LX.
The gift of health, an aged bloom,
His manly cheek confeſt;
And white his locks, as erſt the plume,
That quiver'd o'er his creſt.
LXI.
The Maid oppreſs'd with tender pain,
And, than the hart more fleet,
Now graceful ſhot along the plain,
And panted at his feet.
LXII.
Have you not ſeen the fragile roſe,
Droop with the gems of morn?
So fair the kneeling Virgin ſhews,
A Parent's tears adorn.
[17]LXIII.
Have you not ſeen the purple vine
With Autumn hoar emboſt?
Youth with ſuch lovelineſs divine,
Glows wrapt in age's froſt.
LXIV.
"Oh moſt belov'd!" her father cried,
And faſt his tears would fall,
"My youth's delight, my age's pride,
"My little earthly all!
LXV.
"Thy ſafe return in peace, and health,
"Doth all my griefs aſſuage:
"Thy ſafe return doth ſpare my wealth,
"And ah! doth ſpare my age."
LXVI.
He ſaid, and turning to a Knight,
Upon whoſe brow ſerene,
Sat grace attemper'd with delight,
While valor mark'd his mien.
[18]LXVII.
"See, Baron," added he, "thy Bride;
"My child, behold the Son,
"Allotted for thy Lord, and guide,
"When thy fond father's gone.
LXVIII.
"Ah venerate that hallow'd ſhield,
"Upon whoſe orb the croſs,
"Declares, in many a well-fought field,
"The Saracens vaſt loſs.
LXIX.
"With grateful love accept the hand,
"But for whoſe aid, forlorn,
"And fatherleſs, thou now mightſt ſtand,
"Nor I hail thy return."
LXX.
My ſoul, as with an ague ſhook,
At once both froze and burn'd;
When ſhe, not deigning him a look,
All tearful to me turn'd.
[19]LXXI.
"Behold," ſhe faltering ſaid, "the ſword
"Which ſet thy daughter free;
"Approve a heart where I'm ador'd—
"Where I alone would be.—
LXXII.
"Could I from duty have been won,
"His honor to reward,
"I ſhould have call'd this Knight thy ſon,
"And claim'd a like regard.
LXXIII.
"Oh! think, tho' fortune freed his will,
"With reverence he woo'd;
"Oh! riſe above the thought of ill—
"Remember gratitude.—
LXXIV.
"That claim I never will diſown;
"Your pow'r may bid me weep—
"But tears, like falling drops on ſtone,
"The heart's-wound wear more deep."—
[20]LXXV.
The Baron's eyes blaz'd thro' the ſnow
Of age, with Hecla's fire;
And red his haughty bluſhes glow,
While thus he ſpeaks his ire.
LXXVI.
"And who then art thou, nameleſs Youth?
From whence deriv'd that flood,
"Which dyes thy cheek with nature's truth,
"And vies with Ethel's blood?
LXXVII.
"Where are the honors of thy line?
"Unblazon'd on thy arms;
"Which thou preſum'ſt to blend with mine,
"Vain of ignoble charms.—
LXXVIII.
"Knowſt thou, the ſpoils of many a Knight
"Deſcend to me alone?
"Knowſt thou the lands within thy ſight,
"This Maid will one day own?
[21]LXXIX.
"Learn, Youth, to aſk ſome fit reward,
"Which with thy rank agrees;
"And fame, and wealth, and high regard,
"Thy anger ſhall appeaſe."
LXXX.
"Hold, Lord," I cried, "nor meanly boaſt,
"Degraded anceſtry;
"Thy honors in thyſelf are loſt,
"While mine begin in me.
LXXXI.
"But let us prove this vaunted blood,
"This elevated line;
"And ſee if Edmund's humble flood,
"Nerve not his arm like thine.
LXXXII.
"For while firm youth ſhall brace his hand,
"And love his ardent heart,
"The matchleſs Maid he will demand,
"Who forms its deareſt part.
[22]LXXXIII.
"Come then, ye knights, your well-tried arms
"In deadly wrath produce,
"While ours, unwrought for ſuch alarms,
"Gain ſtrength alone from uſe."
LXXXIV.
Aloſt I wav'd my ſword of pow'r,
The ſpiral luſtre run,
And like the Guard of Eden's bow'r,
Flam'd to the noon-day ſun.
LXXXV.
While thus we met, with equal ire,
Before my ſorrowing eyes,
The proud inexorable Sire
Bore off the beauteous prize.
LXXXVI.
Oh! if ye ever knew to melt
In paſſion's tender glow,
I need not paint the pangs I felt,
At this extreme of woe.
[23]LXXXVII.
Oh! if ye ever yet have rag'd,
Oppreſs'd by ſavage pow'r,
Ye well will gueſs the war we wag'd,
The fierceneſs of that hour.
LXXXVIII.
The ſun unheeded veil'd his head,
While many a caſque was riv'n;
And that laſt darkneſs ſeem'd to ſpread,
Which mingles earth with heav'n.
LXXXIX.
Yet ſtill in mortal conflict join'd,
No reſpite we allow,
'Till oft, by heaven's wild fires, we find
A friend ſlain for a foe.
XC.
Humanity at length o'er pride
Prevail'd, and ſooth'd this heat;
We deem'd, 'till day-light ſhould decide,
'Twere valour to retreat.
[24]XCI.
But on the morn, at Ethel's word,
Lord-marcher of the land,
Indignant thouſands on us pour'd,
Nor could we more withſtand.
XCII.
My Knights, deſpoil'd of armor, peace
Accepted as a boon;
My ſword alone they dar'd not ſeize;
How uſeleſs when alone!
XCIII.
What then was all my early fame!
The wealth by valor giv'n!
What then, alas! even virtue's flame!
Th' united gifts of heav'n!
XCIV.
Loſt to my heart its only joy,
Extinct at once its flights;
Sad images my days employ,
And ſadder ſtill my nights.
[25]XCV.
The bridal feaſt approach'd, the veſts
To many a fair were ſhewn,
Full was the Baron's hall of gueſts,
Myſelf forbid alone.
XCVI.
All hope now loſt, I wild aroſe,
And ſoon within the bound,
Where piety adores the croſs,
My feet unconſcious found.
XCVII.
Impell'd by deſtiny, I paſt
When ſtruck the veſper bell,—
A dreary eye around I caſt,
And own'd it as my knell.
XCVIII.
When lo! approaching faſt, the tread
Of warlike ſteps I heard,
I turn'd, and as by juſtice led,
My Rival there appear'd.
[26]XCIX.
With wonder, bleſſing ev'ry ſhrine,
I drew the well-worn blade,
"One moment yet," I cried, "is mine—
"Deſerve, or loſe the Maid."
C.
Impetuous love each ſinew ſtrung,
As we by turns aſſail'd;
And long the vict'ry doubtful hung,
But oh! my fate prevail'd.
CI.
At length, between th' ill-jointed mail,
My ſword a paſſage found,
Faſt ruſh'd the ſtream of life, and pale
He dropt upon the ground.
CII.
While ſighs of rage from his proud breaſt
Impell'd the vital flood,
A thouſand pangs his eye confeſt,
Beyond the waſte of blood.
[27]CIII.
"Ignoble Lord," I cried, "ſhe's mine,
"On holy land you lie—
"Call to your aid the pow'r divine,
"Repent, before you die."
CIV.
"Ah, ſay'ſt thou?" groan'd he, "holy land!
"'Twas there my ſins began;
"For thither, heedleſs of command,
"In early youth I ran."
CV.
"Broke too the unacknowledg'd tye
"An humble love had made;
"And left the charm of ev'ry eye
"In infamy to fade.
CVI.
"Alas! perhaps on Aran's plain
"She yet exiſts forlorn!
"With Albert's heir, a fancied ſwain,
"From lineal honors torn.
[28]CVII.
"To Baſil's daughter, my true bride,
"This ring reſtore again.—
"To Baſil's daughter!" I replied,
"What, Emma of the plain?"
CVIII.
He groan'd aſſent—thro' all my frame
Did cold convulſions run—
"You ſee," I falter'd, "void of name,
"That miſerable ſon—
CIX.
"The murder'd Emma's only joy"—
He bent to earth his head:
"Oh do not more than kill me, boy!"
All-agoniz'd he ſaid.
CX.
"Yet while I've ſtrength the truth to groan,
"To yonder convent run,
"Bid here the Monks, that I may own
"In you, my heir, my ſon."
[29]CXI.
Already did th' unwonted ſound
The veſper rites reſtrain;
And forth the holy Fathers wound,
A venerable train.
CXII.
With conſecrated lights they ſtar
The boſom of the earth,
And liſt with hallow'd zeal afar,
The bleſſing of our birth.
CXIII.
Before the croſs the dying Lord,
With penitential awe,
In ſilence firſt his God ador'd,
And mourn'd his broken law:
CXIV.
Then raiſing to the Monks his eyes,
Where life's laſt luſtre play'd,
"Suſpend theſe ſacred rites," he cries,
'Till I deſerve your aid.—
[30]CXV.
"If ſtruggling thus with ſhame and death,
"I dare avow a truth,
"Confirm'd by my expiring breath,
"Oh vindicate this Youth!
CXVI.
"Inform my Liege, that led by pride,
"Yet by fond paſſion won,
"In early youth I choſe a bride,
"I ever ſcorn'd to own.
CXVII.
"With impious zeal, the band I join'd
"He led to Paleſtine,
"And with falſe glory fir'd my mind,
"T' elude the wrath divine.
CXVIII.
"With him I ev'ry danger dar'd,
"Which mark'd the proud cruſade;
"With him a priſon's gloom I ſhar'd,
"Nor ſelt my ſoul upbraid.—
[31]CXIX.
"While in our Northern wilds was born
"This Youth, whoſe energy
"Has from its ſeat that being torn,
"Which gave him firſt to be—
CXX.
"Since juſtly then, in flow'r of health,
"I expiate thus my pride,
"Oh may he give my heir my wealth,
"My name—alas, my Bride!
CXXI.
"Unhappy Boy! if for thy fire
"Theſe ſtreaming ſorrows flow,
"To ſave his ſoul from endleſs fire,
"Perennial pray'rs beſtow."
CXXII.
He died—nor had I time to think
On all I'd loſt, or won,—
I hover'd on creation's brink,
And clung to love alone.
[32]CXXIII.
The buſy Monks remov'd the corſe,
The arms alone remain'd;
When fraud effected, what nor force,
Nor ſupplication gain'd.
CXXIV.
Incumber'd with Lord Albert's mail,
A deſperate hope I try'd,
And ſoon the hoſtile mountain ſcale,
Where now the gates flew wide.
CXXV.
The high-arch'd halls I ſafely paſt,
Thro' lucid heraldry,
Where echo to the midnight blaſt
Sigh'd wild, and loud as me.
CXXVI.
'Till the lone gallery now appear'd
Enrich'd with pond'rous mail,
Where many a banner, time-endear'd,
Slow ruſtled to the gale.
[33]CXXVII.
Upon its gilded ſides pourtray'd,
Magnificently old,
Each anceſtor's diſtinguiſh'd ſhade
Gave luſtre to the gold.
CXXVIII.
The ſnowy plumes appear to wave,
And arms, and forms divine,
Defend the honors which they gave,
Or deify the line.
CXXIX.
On me all ſeem to turn their eyes
Prophetic with my doom,
Then, like the rainbow's tranſient dyes,
They melt into a gloom.
CXXX.
Beyond—all open—ſilent—dim—
The length'ning rooms extend,
Where tapers ſhed a quiv'ring gleam,
Each moment ſtrove to end.
[34]CXXXI.
With bold deſpair I thither paſt,
My ſate's extremes to prove;
'Till ent'ring, with rude ſtep, the laſt,
I ſaw my long-loſt love.
CXXXII.
Careleſs ſhe view'd thoſe arms ſo fam'd,
Nor once remov'd her eyes;
"Reſts Ethelinda," I exclaim'd,
"While ruin'd Edmund dies?
CXXXIII.
"Or tir'd of having thus withſtood,
"Reſolves ſhe on a crime?
"But Hymen's torch is quench'd in blood,
"And yielded up to time."
CXXXIV.
"By miracle ſince thou art come,"
She falter'd out, "t' atteſt
"With heav'n my melancholy doom,
"I truſt to that the reſt.
[35]CXXXV.
"Unjuſt and cruel—if you knew—
"What, doubt my paſſion yet?
"Edmund, this heart, forever true,
"Could break, but not forget.
CXXXVI.
"Each bluſh which deepen'd on my cheek,
"Declar'd my love's exceſs;
"Oh learn to think that paſſion weak,
"Which language can expreſs—
CXXXVII.
"And when the laſt fond crimſon flies
"With my expiring breath,
"Then, then, allow the ſacrifice,
"And own my love—in death.
CXXXVIII.
"Alas! ev'n now that hour is come—
"For think not I would be,
"While herbs afford a mortal bloom,
"A Bride, and not to thee."
[36]CXXXIX.
While yet ſhe ſpoke, the roſeate hue,
Which on her ſoft cheek play'd,
And her bright eyes celeſtial blue
Began apace to fade.
CXL.
O'er her tranſparent tender ſkin
An icy poliſh ſpread;
A nerveleſs torpor crept within,
As ſhe ev'n then were dead.
CXLI.
More cold, and cold, that heart now grew,
Which gave ſuch rich ſupplies;
More ſlow, and ſlow, her breath ſhe drew,
'Till it was nought but ſighs.
CXLII.
And now, beyond the grief of thought—
And now devoid of bloom—
She ſeem'd a beauteous ſtatue, wrought
To grace her own ſad tomb.
[37]CXLIII.
Aſtounded—hopeleſs—reckleſs—loſt—
O'er the fair form, tho' dead,
Fond fancy's wiſh, vain reaſon's boaſt,
My heart in ſilence bled—
CXLIV.
No voice its ſolitude could break—
No object win my eye—
Not ev'n her ſire's complaints could wake
A keener agony.
CXLV.
Alas! to him who caus'd the grief,
Relenting fortune gave
A ſudden, and a long relief,
In Ethelinda's grave.
CXLVI.
The Monks Lord Albert's will aſſert—
The King allow'd my claim—
When did they know a breaking heart
Revive upon a name?
[38]CXLVII.
Impatient of the proud controul,
And thankleſs for each care,
To all theſe comforters my ſoul,
Sigh'd only out—deſpair—
CXLVIII.
Of ev'ry human hope forlorn,
All-deſolate I ran,
Wild as theſe woods, in them to mourn
The miſeries of Man.
CXLIX.
Oft on the hill, the hunters hear
The ſadly vocal gale,
And turn aſide with holy fear,
Nor dare the copſe aſſail.
CL.
Ev'n the wild deer, with look profound,
My ſorrows ſeem to ſhare,
And ev'ry groaning tree around
But echoes my deſpair—
[39]CLI.
'Till ſometimes, thought's aërial brood,
A wan, and num'rous train,
Fantaſtic ſons of ſolitude,
Catch life from my wild brain.—
CLII.
Full threeſcore times the froſts have bound
All ſtreams but from theſe eyes,
Since here my care-worn limbs firſt found
A refuge from the ſkies.
CLIII.
Years upon years thus ſlowly roll,
Nor comfort bring to me,
Since ev'n in ſleep my active ſoul
Lives o'er her miſery.
CLIV.
Dim are my days, and near the hour
When death at length is mine;
Which only can my bliſs reſtore,
Or bid me ne'er repine.
[40]CLV.
Ye generous poor, who ſend me bread,
When on my ruſhy couch,
Your little offspring find me dead,
With pious hearts approach—
CLVI.
Hide me in earth, and conſecrate
With tears this ſimple tale,
So may you ever 'ſcape the fate
Of Edmund of the Vale.
THE END.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3462 A hermit s tale recorded by his own hand and found in his cell. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5D4F-5