From “The Vicar of Wakefield”
“TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
  And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale
  With hospitable ray.

“For here forlorn and lost I tread,
  With fainting steps and slow;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
  Seem lengthening as I go.”

“Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries,...