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And fpread his vegetable store,
And gayly preft, and smil'd;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.

Around in fympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth;
The crackling fagot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart
To footh the ftranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rifing cares the Hermit fpy'd,
With anfwering care oppreft:
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd,
"The forrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations fpurn'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 ftill than they.

"And what is friendship but a name,
"A charm that lulls to fleep;
"A fhade that follows wealth or fame,
"And leaves the wretch to weep
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"And love is still an emptier found,
"The modern fair one's jeft:
"On earth unfeen, or only found
"To warm the turtle's neft.

"For fhame, fond youth, thy forrows hush,
"And fpurn the fex," he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His lovelorn guest betray'd.

Surpriz'd he fees new beauties rife,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as tranfient too.

The bashful look, the rifing breast,
Alternate spread alarms :
The lovely stranger ftands confeft
A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah, forgive a stranger rude,
"A wretch forlorn," fhe cry'd;
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
"Where heav'n and you refide.

"But let a maid thy pity share,

"Whom love has taught to ftray; "Who seeks for rest, but finds despair "Companion of her way.

"My father liv'd befide the Tyne, "A wealthy lord was he;

"And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, "He had but only me.

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"To win me from his tender arms, "Unnumber'd fuitors came;

"Who prais'd me for imputed charms, "And felt, or feign'd a flame.

"Eack hour a mercenary croud,

"With richest proffers ftrove: "Among the reft young Edwin bow'd, "But never talk'd of love.

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"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 bloffom opening to the day,
"The dews of heav'n refin'd,
"Could nought of purity difplay,
"To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the bloffoms of the tree,
"With charms inconftant fhine;
"Their charms were his, but wo to me,
"Their conftancy was mine.

"For ftill I try'd each fickle art, "Importunate and vain ;

"And while his paffion 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;
"And fought a folitude forlorn,
"In fecret, where he dy'd.

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"But mine the forrow, mine the fault,
"And well my life shall pay ;
"I'll feek the folitude he fought,
"And ftretch me where he lay.

"And there, forlorn defpairing hid,
"I'll lay me down and die!
"'Twas fo for me that Edwin did,
"And fo for him will I."

"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 preft.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

66 My charmer, turn to fee "Thy own, thy long-loft Edwin here, "Reftor'd to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart, "And ev'ry care refign:

"And fhall we never, never part,
"My life my all that's mine.

"No, never, from this hour to part,
"We'll live and love fo true,
"The figh that rends thy conftant heart,
"Shall break thy Edwin's too."

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AN

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DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

GOOD people, all of ev'ry fort,

Give ear unto my song;

And if you find it wondrous fhort,
It cannot hold you long.

In Iling-ton there was a man,
Of whom the world might fay,
That ftill a godly race he ran,

Whene'er he went to pray.

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A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes
The naked ev'ry day he clad,
When he put on his cloaths.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mungrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at firft were friends;
But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain his private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.

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