'For here, forlorn and lost I tread, 5
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go.'
'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries,
'To tempt the dangerous gloom; 10
For yonder faithless phantom 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, 15
I give it with good will.
'Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch, and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose. 20
'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 25
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.
'Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forgo;
All earth-born cares are wrong: 30
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.
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