Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
IV. Wooing and WinningThe Hermit
Oliver Goldsmith (1730–1774)“T
And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.
With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.”
“To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.
Whate’er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.
All earth-born cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighboring poor,
And strangers led astray.
Required a master’s care:
The wicket, opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.
To take their evening rest,
The Hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest;
And gayly pressed and smiled;
And, skilled in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups on the hearth;
The crackling fagot flies.
To soothe the stranger’s woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
With answering care opprest:
“And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,
“The sorrows of thy breast?
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love?
Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things
More trifling still than they.
A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?
The modern fair one’s jest;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle’s nest.
And spurn the sex,” he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His lovelorn guest betrayed.
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colors o’er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.
A wretch forlorn,” she cried;
“Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside.
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was marked as mine,—
He had but only me.
Unnumbered suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feigned, a flame.
With richest proffers strove:
Among the rest young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love.
No wealth or power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
He carolled lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale
And music to the grove.
The dews of heaven refined,
Could naught of purity display
To emulate his mind.
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but, woe to me!
Their constancy was mine.
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touched my heart,
I triumphed in his pain:
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.
And well my life shall pay;
I ’ll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
I ’ll lay me down and die;
’T was so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.”
And clasped her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turned to chide,—
’T was Edwin’s self that pressed.
My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.
And every care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life,—my all that ’s mine?
We ’ll live and love so true:
The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin’s too.”