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And spread his vegetable store,
And gayly prest, and smild; And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling’ring hours beguild.
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The crackling fagot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To footh the stranger's woe;
And tears began to flow.
With answering care opprest :
“ The sorrows of thy breaft?
“From better habitations spurn'd,
“Reluctant dost thou rove : “Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
“ Or unregarded love? * 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,
“ 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 lovelorn guest betray'd. Surpriz'd 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 :
A maid in all her charms.
" And, ah, forgive a stranger rude,
“ A wretch forlorn,” she cry'd; “ Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
“ Where heav'n and you reside.
“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. “ Eack hour a mercenary croud,
“With richest proffers strove : " Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
“ But never talk'd of love.
" In humbleft, fimpleft habit clad,
“No wealth or pow'r had he ; " Wisdom and worth were all he had,
“ But these were all to me.
“The blossom opening to the day,
“ The dews of heav'n refin'd, "Could nought of purity display,
“ To emulate his mind.
“ The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
“ With charms inconftant 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 dy'd.
“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 ! “'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
“ And so for him will I."
“Forbid it, Heav'n!” the Hermit cry'd,
And clasp'd her to his breaft:
'Twas Edwin's self that prest. “ 'Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charnier, 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 ev'ry care resign: « And shall we never, never part,
“My life my all that's mine. “No, néver, 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."