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Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms : The lovely stranger stands confess'd,
A maid in all her charms.
“ And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn,” she cried ; “ Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where Heav'n and you reside.
“ But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray ; 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.
“ To win me from his tender arms
Unnumber'd suiters came,
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 or pow'r had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
“ And when, beside me in the dale,
He carol'd lays of love,
And music to the grove.
“ The blossom op’ning to the day,
The dews of Heav'n refined, Could naught of purity display
To emulate his mind.
« The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
With charms inconstant shine ; Their charms were his; but, wo 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.
“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,
I'll lay me down and die ; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will l."
“Forbid it, Heaven !" the hermit cried,
And clasp'd her to his breast : The wondering fair one turn’d to chide
'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.
Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Restored to love and thee.
And ev'ry care resign :
My life my all that's mine?
We'll live and love so true,
Shall break thy Edwin's too.”
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain, Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, And parting Summer's lingʻring blooms delay'd : Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please : How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I paused on ev'ry charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighb'ring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whisp’ring lovers made ! How often have I bless'd the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree : While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Ill fares the land, to hast’ning ills a prey,
A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
In all my wand'rings round this world of care,