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“ Alas! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the trifling things

More trifling still than they.
“And what is friendship but a name,

A charm that lulls to sleep;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep?
“ And love is still an emptier sound,

The modern fair-one's jest: On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest. “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.
Surprised he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,

As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms :
The lovely stranger stands confest

A maid in all her charms.
And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,

And wretch forlorn," she cried; « Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude

Where Heaven and you reside. “But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray;

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Who seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.
“My father lived beside the Tyne,

A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,

He had but only me.
66 To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,

And felt or feign'd a flame.
“Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove: Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

But never talk'd of love. “In humble, simplest habit clad,

No wealth nor power had he: Wisdom and worth were all he had,

But these were all to me. “The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of heaven refined, Could naught of purity display

To emulate his mind.
“The dew, the blossom on the tree,

With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his : but, woe to me,

Their constancy was mine.
“For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain:

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“Till, quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride;

130 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,

I'll lay me down and die; 'T was so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.”

140 “Forbid it, Heaven !” the Hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast:
The wondering fair-one turn'd to chide,-

'T was Edwin's self that prest. “Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

145 My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restored to love and thee. “Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign:

150 And shall we never, never part,

My life my all that's mine ? “No, never from this hour to part,

We 'll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thy constant heart 155 Shall break thy Edwin's too."

GOLDSMITH. .

EDWIN AND EMMA.
Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of Health and Peace,

A humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair,

Beneath a mother's eye;
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her blest, and die.

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The softest blush that nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek;
Such orient colour smiles through heaven,

When vernal mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

This charmer of the plains :
That sun, who bids their diamonds 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,

Shone forth the feeling heart.

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A mutual flame was quickly caught;

Was quickly too reveald:
For neither bosom lodged a wish

That virtue keeps conceal’d.

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What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow!
But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.
His sister, who, like Envy formid,

Like her in mischief joy'd,
To work them harm, with wicked skill,

Each darker art employ'd.
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 unmoved:
Then, with a father's frown, at last

Had sternly disapproved.
In Edwin's gentle heart a war

Of differing passions strove :
His heart, that durst not disobey,

Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

Where Emma walk'd and wept.
Oft, too, on Stanmore'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:

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