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“ Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice-
The Tempter saw his time; the work he ply'd ;
Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,
A nymph of quality admires our Knight,
EDWIN AND EMM An
Faft by a fhélt'ring wood,
A humble cottage stood.
Beneath a mother's eye,
To see her bleft, and die.
The softest blash that Nature spreads,
Gave colour to her cheek;
When May's sweet mornings break.
The charmer of the plains ;
To deck our lily deigns.
Long had the fir'd each youth with love,
Each maiden with despair ; And tho' by all a wonder own'd,
Yet knew not the was fair.
Till EDWIN came, the pride of fwains,
A soul that knew no art,
Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual flame was quickly caught,
Was quickly too reveal'd; Nor neither bosom lodg'd a wish
Which Virtue keeps conceal'd.
What happy hours of heart-felt bliss
Did love on both bestow !
Where Fortune proves a foe.
His fifter, who like Envy form’d,
Like her in mischief joy'd,
Each darker art employ'd.
The father too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the rock
From whence his riches grew.
Long had he feen their mutual flame,
And seen it long unmovid;
He sternly disapprov'd.
In Edwin's gentle heart a war
Of differing paffions ftrove;
Yet could not cease to love.
Deny'd her fight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where EMMA walk'd and wept.
Oft too in Stanemore's wint'ry waste,
Beneath the moonlight fade, In fighs to pour his soften’d foul.
The midnight mourner Atray'd.
His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercaft;
Before the northern blast.
The parents now,
with late remorse, Hung o'er his dying bed, And weary'd Heav'n with fruitless pray'rs,
And fruitless forrows shed.
'Tis paft, he cry'd, but if your souls
Sweet mercy yet can move,
What they must ever love.
She came; his cold hand softly touch'd,
And bath'd with many a tear ; First falling o'er the primrose pale
So morning dews appear.
But oh! his sister's jealous care,
(A cruel filter she !) Forbad what Emma came to say, My Edwin ! live for me.
Now homeward as the hopeless went,
The churchyard path along,
Her lover's fun'ral song.
Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
His groan in ev'ry sound.
- Alone, appallid, thus had the pass’d
The visi’nary vale,
Sad sounding in the gale.
Just then she reach'd with trembling steps,
Her aged mother's door!
That angel face no more !
I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my fide :
She shiver'd, fighed, and died !
CH A P. XVI.
CEL ADON AND AMELIA.