Will no pitying power that hears me complain, Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain? To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove: DAVID MALLET. EDWIN AND EMMA. Mark it, Cesario, it is true and plain; And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, And dallies with the innocence of love, Like the old age. Shaksp. Twelfth Night. FAR in the windings of a vale, Fast by a sheltering wood, The safe retreat of Health and Peace, There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair Beneath a mother's eye, Whose only wish on earth was now The softest blush that Nature spreads, Gave colour to her cheek; Such orient colour smiles through Heav'n When vernal mornings break. Nor let the pride of great ones scorn This charmer of the plains; That sun which bids their diamond blaze To paint our lily deigns. Long had she fill'd each youth with love, Each maiden with despair, And though by all a wonder own'd, Yet knew not she was fair; Till Edwin came, the pride of swains! A soul devoid of art, And from whose eyes, serenely mild, A mutual flame was quickly caught, For neither bosom lodg'd a wish What happy hours of home-felt bliss But bliss too mighty long to last His sister, who, like Envy form'd, To work them harm, with wicked skill The father too, a sordid man! Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the clod From whence his riches grew. Long had he seen their secret flame, And seen it long unmov'd, Then with a father's frown at last Had sternly disapprov'd. In Edwin's gentle heart a war Denied her sight, he oft behind Oft, too, on Stanemore's wintry waste, Beneath the moonlight shade, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul The midnight mourner stray'd. His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast; So fades the fresh rose in its prime Before the northern blast. The parents now, with late remorse, And wearied Heav'n with fruitless vows, 'Tis past,' he cried-' but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, Let these dim eyes once more behold She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, Fast falling o'er the primrose pale But oh! his sister's jealous care, A cruel sister she! Forbade what Emma came to say, 'My Edwin! live for me.' Now homeward as she hopeless wept The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song. Amid the falling gloom of night Her startling fancy found In every bush his hovering shade, His groan in every sound. Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd The visionary vale When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Sad sounding in the gale.· ́ Just then she reach'd, with trembling step, Her aged mother's door 'He's gone!' she cried, and I shall see That angel face no more! I feel, I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side-' From her white arm down sunk her head: She shivering sigh'd, and died, WILLIAM AND MARGARET. TWAS at the silent solemn hour When night and morning meet, In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet. Her face was like an April morn And clay-cold was her lily hand So shall the fairest face appear Her bloom was like the springing flow'r The rose was budded in her cheek, But Love had, like the canker-worm, Consum'd her early prime: The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; She died before her time. 'Awake!' she cried, thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refus'd to save. This is the dumb and dreary hour When injur'd ghosts complain, When yawning graves give up their dead To haunt the faithless swain. Bethink thee, William! of thy fault, Thy pledge and broken oath, And give me back my maiden vow, And give me back my troth. |