Gazette Of The United States

The HERMIT. and his DOG.

From SYMPATHY, a POEM.

IN life's fair morn, I knew an aged seer,
Who sad and lonely pass'd his joyless year;
Betray'd, heart-broken, from the world he ran,
And shunn'd, oh dire extreme, the face of man;
Humbly he rear'd his hut within the wood,
Hermit his vest, a hermit's was his food.
Nich'd in some corner of the gelid cave,
Where chilling drops the rugged rockstone lave;
Hour after hour, the melancholy sage,
Drop after drop to reckon, would engage
The ling'ring day, and trickling as they fell,
A tear went with them to the narrow well;
Then thus he moraliz'd as slow it pass'd,
"This, brings me nearer Lucia than the last;
" And this, now streaming from the eye," said he,
"Oh, my lov'd child, will bring me nearer thee."

When first he roam'd, his dog with anxious care,
His wand'rings watch'd, as emulous to share;
In vain the faithful brute was bid to go,
In vain the sor rower sought a lonely woe.
The Hermit paus'd, th' attendant dog was near,
Slept at his feet, and caught the falling tear ;
Up rose the Hermit, up the dog would rise,
And every way to win a master tries.
" Then be it so. Come faithful fool," he said ;
One pat encourag'd, and they sought the shade;
An unfrequented thicket soon they found,
And both repos'd upon the leafy ground ;
Mellifluous murm'rings told the fountains nigh,
Fountains, which well a pilgrim's drink supply
And thence, by many a labyrinth is led,
Where ev'ry tree bestow'd an ev'ning bed.

Skill'd in the chase, the faithful creature brought
Whate'er at morn or moon-light course he caught;
But the sage lent his sympathy to all,
Nor saw unwept his dumb associates fall.
He was, in sooth, the gentlest of his kind,
And tho a Hermit, had a social mind :
" And why," said he, "must man subsist by prey,
"Why stop yon melting music on the spray?
"Why, when assail'd by hounds and hunter's cry,
" Must half the harmless race in terrors die ?
"Why must we work of innocence the woe ?
"Still shall this bosom throb, these eyes o'erflow;
" A heart too tender here, from man, retires,
"A heart that aches, if but a wren expires."

Thus liv'd the master good, the servant true,
'Till to its God the master's spirit flew ;
Beside a fount which daily water gave,
Stooping to drink, the Hermit found a grave;
All in the running stream his garments spread,
And dark, damp verdure ill conceal'd his head;
The faithful servant from that fatal day
Watch'd the lov'd corpse, and hourly pin'd away;
His head upon his master's cheek was found,
While the obstructed water mourn'd around.