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"Alas! the joys that fortune brings, "Are trifling and decay;
"And those who prize the paltry things, "More trifling still than they.
"And what is friendship but a name,
"And love is still an emptier sound,
"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, "And spurn the sex," he said: But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
The bashful look, the rising breast,
The lovely stranger stands confest
"And ah! forgive a stranger rude,
"But let a maid thy pity share,
"My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
"A wealthy lord was he;
"And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, "He had but only me.
"To win me from his tender arms
"Unnumber'd suitors came;
"Who prais'd me for imputed charms, "And felt, or feign'd a flame.
"Each hour a mercenary crowd
"With richest proffers strove; "Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd"But never talk'd of love.
"In humble simplest habit clad,
"And when, beside me in the dale, "He carol'd lays of love,
"His breath lent fragrance to the gale "And music to the grove.
"The blossom opening to the day,
"The dew, the blossom on the tree, "With charms inconstant shine; "Their charms were his, but wo to me, "Their constancy was mine.
"For still I try'd each fickle art,
"Importunate and vain;
"And while his passion touch'd my heart,
"I triumph'd in his pain.
"Till quite dejected with my scorn,
"He left me to my pride;
"And sought a solitude forlorn,
"In secret, where he died.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, "And well my life shall pay;
"I'll seek the solitude he sought,
"And stretch me where he lay.
"And there forlorn despairing hid,
"Forbid it Heav'n!" the Hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast: The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,"Twas Edwin's self that prest.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
"My charmer, turn to see
"Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, "Restor❜d to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart, "And every care resign:
"And shall we never, never part,
"No never from this hour to part, "We'll live and love so true;
"The sigh that rends thy constant heart, "Shall break thy Edwin's too."
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
Beneath these rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense breathing morn,