Of life was wasted. From the social scenes
Of human energy an alien driv’n,
He almost had forgot the face of Man.—
No voice had met his ear, save, when perchance
The Pilgrim wand’rer, or the Goatherd Swain,
Bewilder’d in the starless midnight hour
Implored the Hermit’s aid, the Hermit’s pray’rs;
And nothing loath by pity or by pray’r
Was he, to save the wretched. On the top
Of his low rushy Dome, a tinkling bell