Around in sympathetic mirth But nothing could a charm impart His rising cares the hermit spy'd, With answ'ring care opprest: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, The sorrows of thy breast? "From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove; Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, "Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things, "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, To warm the turtle's nest. "For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise, The bashful look, the rising breast, The lovely stranger stands confest 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. "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 liv'd beside the Tyne, 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, "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, "The blossom op'ning to the day, "The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but, woe 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, And so 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 prest. "Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, "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? |