WRITTEN IN THE HERMITAGE AT BRAID Rebekah Carmichael (later Hay) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T104666 Carmichael, Miss (Rebekah) (fl. 1790-1806). Poems. Edinburgh Peter Hill 1790 pp. 42-45. 92p.

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WRITTEN IN THE HERMITAGE AT BRAID Once , weary of the busy town , And with poetic ardour fir'd , I left it with a scornful frown , To yon sweet hermitage retir'd . I set me on a mossy stone Beside the softly filling stream ; So charm'd to find myself alone , It only seem'd a pleasant dream . When , lo ! from yon surrounding shades , Through which the waters glide along , Step'd forward two as lovely maids As e'er were fam'd in poet's song . The one magestic , graceful , gay , Commanded more than mortal air ; Her meaning eyes were bright as day ; In glossy ringlets wav'd her hair . Her dress , the purest simple white , No gaudy ornament did show ; She seem'd array'd in robes of light , More spotless than the new fall'n snow . The other like her sister seem'd , But shone with an inferior air ; From her mild eyes no raptures stream'd , But modest pleasure sparkled there . A serious settled look of peace In all her gentle form appear'd ; And something which could never cease To make that gentle form endear'd . On me she turned her smiling eyes , Which sparkl'd then with love and joy : Be what I am , she sweetly cries , And nothing shall your bliss destroy . The other sternly thus reply'd : 'Twould be a crime to copy thee , Unless he leave a world of pride , Or wander through that world with me . My name is Virtue ! fear not , then , In my rough paths on earth to stray ; I'll guide you from the wiles of men ; I'll lead you to the realms of day . And this fair virgin is Content , Which you , I hope , will shortly be . If that's your wish , in time repent , Disdain the world , and follow me . I rose , and , with a beating heart , Clasp'd blooming Virtue to my breast : By heav'n , we never more shall part ! I sigh'd , I wept , and closer prest . Your path may lie through care and strife ; E'en through these paths I'll follow you , Till , at the farthest verge of life , I bid this vale of tears adieu .