THE HERMIT.
[I.]
The hermit sat within his cave,A prey to anxious care;Distress sat gravely on his brow,And suffering slumbered there.His form is worn with constant fasts,His eyes are dimmed from tears,Within this gloomy wilderness,He's spent full twenty years.
Yet 'neath the lofty, classic brow,The window of his soulO'erlooks a face where beauty dwells,And strong emotions roll.To-night, the tempter's crafty arts,Repeated oft before,Has stirred ambition's smoldering fires,And roused the hopes of yore.
"Alone, alone;" he sadly sighs,No human voice I hear;For twenty years no son of EveHas passed this prison, drear.No gentle hand has grasped my palm,And with its feeling touch,Taught me to value sympathy,My fate has ne'er been such.