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APPEARED IN THAT PAPER, IN JUNE,
MDCCLXVII.

A

SIR,

S there is nothing I dislike so much as newspaper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concise as possible in informing a correspondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one; and I think so still. I faid, I was told by the bookfeller that it was then first published; but in that, it seems, I was mif-informed, and my reading was not extensive enough to fet me right.

Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad, I published some time ago,

VOL. I.

C

from

from one * by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy, fome years ago; and he (as we both confidered these things as trifles at best) told me with his usual good humour, the next time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarce worth printing: and, were it not for the busy difpofition of some of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more impor

tant nature.

I am, Sir,

Yours, &c.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

* The Friar of Orders Gray. "Reliq. of Anc. Poetry,"

vol. 1. p. 243.

THE

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"TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, " And guide my lonely way,

"To where yon taper chears the vale "With hospitable ray.

" For here forlorn and loft I tread,
"With fainting steps and flow;
"Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
" Seem length'ning as I go."

"F Forbear, my fon," the Hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
"For yonder faithless phantom flies
"To lure thee to thy doom.

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"Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still;

"And though my portion is but scant, " I give it with good will.

"Then turn to-night, and freely share " Whate'er my cell bestows;

"My rushy couch and frugal fare,

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"No flocks that range the valley free, "To flaughter I condemn:

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Taught by that power that pities me, " I learn to pity them :

"But from the mountain's grassy side
"A guiltless feast I bring;
"A fcrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
" And water from the spring.

" Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
" All earth-born cares are wrong:
"Man wants but little here below,
"Nor wants that little long."

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell :

The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.

Far

Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;

The wicket op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And chear'd his pensive guest:

And spread his vegetable store,

And gayly prest, and smil'd; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguil'd.

Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling faggot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To foothe a stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.

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