Here, far from mortal steps exil'd,
Among the tenants of the wild,

The sportive squirrel oft shall share
Thy sheltering hut and frugal fare;
And often seen at early dawn,

The hare shall crop thy dewy lawn;
And always in thy mossy cell,

Her grateful song the wren shall swell.

What, tho' no wine may stain thy board, Nor costly dish thy cell afford,

To thee, the village maid shall bring
The crystal beverage of the spring;
And ever for her cheerful task,

The Hermit's saintly blessing ask;
Whilst all around the sportive young
To view thy holy book shall throng.

And thou may'st teach their tender age, The morals of its golden page;

And bid them ne'er forsake their home,
Thro' foreign lands and seas to roam ;

And never quit their native plain,
For eastern worlds of evil gain :
Nor idle thus shall pass away,
The moments of thy fleeting day.

And, guided by the taper's light, That gleams amid the wintry night, The weary pilgrim's sandal'd feet Shall often trace thy lone retreat; And thou shalt bid him doff, I trow, The cockle bonnet from his brow; And throw his scrip and staff aside, With thee, a welcome guest to bide.

And he and thou shall ponder o'er
Supreme religion's hallow'd lore;
Or, he shall tell of Bourbon's fate,
His nobles fled in abject state-

Shall tell of leagues and distant wars,
Of foreign broils and civil jars-

Then leave thee at the morning ray,
For holy climate far away.

When Spring first casts her smile around,
And calls to life the blooming ground,
And gaily twines the primrose wreath,

Or bids the wanton zephyrs breathe;
Delighted thou may'st ceaseless rove,
By flowery dell or shady grove;
And listen to the feathery throng,

That "chaunt the echoing woods among."

And every blameless joy is thine,
When Summer suns shall fairer shine:
Thou then may'st linger in the shade,
Or wander thro' the tangled glade;
Or, haply, wrapt in airy dream,

Beside some far sequester'd stream,

Full many a magic strain may'st hear, Which fancy wakes upon thine ear.

When Autumn comes in tresses sear, Wan daughter of the fading year; And cheerless binds the yellow sheaf, Or strews around the wither'd leaf: When Winter on his silver brow, Shall bind his hoary badge of snow, Still every sacred charm is thine; For thee the seasons all combine.

As from the margin of yon shore, Where ocean's waves tumultuous roar, The breezy gales in cadence bear, The soften'd murmurs thro' the airSo from the world's forgotten stage, Borne to thy silent hermitage, Is heard the distant din of strife, And all the varied storm of life.

SONNET.

A YOUTHFUL Voyager on life's stormy sea,
With fearful eye, I view the dread expanse,
And cast an anxious and inquiring glance,
Towards the depths of dim futurity.
Thou! who hast freighted out my fragile bark,

And launched it safely on the world's rough main, What art shall shield from sorrow and from pain, And guide me safely o'er these paths so dark? Thy word, oh God! for, as the mariner still

Turns to his faithful magnet's wondrous pow'r, To find mysterious aid when tempests low'r; So in each worldly strife, each mortal ill, Close to my heart thy holy dictates prest, I'll seek the haven of eternal rest,