Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible by Shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortals hands
An Hermit lived,—a melancholy man
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains:
Austere and lonely—cruel to himself
They did report him—the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the Shepherd's alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touched
With reverence and pity. Mild he spake,
And entering on discourse, such stories told,
As made me oft re-visit his sad cell.
Notes
From: LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBERT THE HERMIT (1829)
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