Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. • • Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still ; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good... Poetical Works - Seite 49 von Oliver Goldsmith - 1806 - 72 Seiten Vollansicht -
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