 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
321
A HERMITAGE.
Whose is this humble dwelling-place,
The flat turf-roof with flowers o'ergrown?
Ah! here the tenant's name I trace,
Moss-cover'd, on the threshold stone.
The flat turf-roof with flowers o'ergrown?
Ah! here the tenant's name I trace,
Moss-cover'd, on the threshold stone.
Well, he has peace within and rest,
Though nought of all the world beside;
Yet, stranger, deem not him unblest,
Who knows not avarice, lust, or pride.
Though nought of all the world beside;
Yet, stranger, deem not him unblest,
Who knows not avarice, lust, or pride.
Nothing he asks, nothing he cares
For all that tempts or troubles round;
He craves no feast, no finery wears,
Nor once o'ersteps his narrow bound.
For all that tempts or troubles round;
He craves no feast, no finery wears,
Nor once o'ersteps his narrow bound.
No need of light, though all be gloom,
To cheer his eye,—that eye is blind;
No need of fire in this small room,
He recks not tempest, rain, or wind.
To cheer his eye,—that eye is blind;
No need of fire in this small room,
He recks not tempest, rain, or wind.
No gay companion here; no wife
To gladden home with true-love smiles;
No children,—from the woes of life
To win him with their artless wiles.
To gladden home with true-love smiles;
No children,—from the woes of life
To win him with their artless wiles.
Nor joy, nor sorrow, enter here,
Nor throbbing heart, nor aching limb:
No sun, no moon, no stars appear,
And man and brute are nought to him.
Nor throbbing heart, nor aching limb:
No sun, no moon, no stars appear,
And man and brute are nought to him.
This dwelling is a hermit's cave,
With space alone for one poor bed;
This dwelling is a mortal's grave,
Its sole inhabitant is dead.
With space alone for one poor bed;
This dwelling is a mortal's grave,
Its sole inhabitant is dead.
1822.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |