Yet stay fair lady; rest awhile Beneath this cloyster wall: See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall. O ftay me not, thou holy friar 5 No drizzly rain that falls on me, Yet ftay, fair lady, turn again, Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love These holy weeds I fought: And here amid thefe lonely walls But haply for my year of grace Might I still hope to win thy love, No longer would I stay. Now Now farewel grief, and welcome joy For fince I have found thee, lovely youth, PERCY. URN, gentle hermit of the dale, To where yon taper cheers the vale, For here forlorn and loft I tread, Forbear, my fon, the hermit cries, To lure thee to thy doom. Here Here to the houseless child of want, My door is open ftill; And tho' my portion is but fcant, Then turn to-night, and freely share No flocks that range the valley free, But from the mountain's graffy fide, A fcrip with herbs and fruits fupply'd, Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; Nor wants that little long. Soft Soft as the dew from heav'n defcends, His gentle accents fell: The modeft ftranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obfcure A refuge to the neighbouring poor, No ftores beneath its humble thatch Requir'd a mafter's care; The wicket opening with a latch, And now when bufy crowds retire The hermit trimm'd his little fire, And spread his vegetable store, And skill'd in legendary lore, Around in fympathetic mirth But nothing could a charm impart His rifing cares the hermit 'fpy'd, And whence, unhappy youth, he cry'd, From better habitations spurn'd, Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Alas! the joys that fortune brings, Are trifling and decay; And thofe that prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. And |