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THE

H E R M I T.

A BALLAD.

FIRST PRINTED IN MDCC,LXV.

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L E T T E R,

ADDRESSED TO THE

PRINTER OF THE ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE,

APPEARED IN THAT PAPER, IN JUNE,

M DCC LXVII.

SIR,

As 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 Blain- . ville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one; and I think so still. I said, I was told by the bookseller that it was then first published ; but in that, it seems, I was misinform'd, and my reading was not extensive enough to set me right.

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

years * The Friar of Orders Gray. "Reliq. of Anc. Poetry.” Vol. I. Book 2. No. 18.

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years ago; and he (as we both considered 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 scarcely worth printing: and, were it not for the busy disposition 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 important nature.

I am, Sir,

Yours, &c.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Note, On the subject of the preceding letter, the reader is desired to consult « The Life of Dr. Goldsmith,” under the year 1765.

THE

HERMIT.

B A L L A D.

I.

TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,

“ And guide my lonely way, “ To where yon taper chears the vale

<< With hospitable ray.

II.

- For here forlorn and lost I tread,

With fainting steps and slow; « Where wilds, immeasurably spread,

“ Seem length’ning as I go."

III.

“ Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries,

“ To tempt the dangerous gloom; “For yonder faithless phantom flies

« To lure thee to thy doom.

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