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No stores beneath its humble thatch

Required a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,

Received the harmless pair.
And now when busy crowds retire

To take their evening rest,
T'he hermit trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer'd bis pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily press'd, and smiled; And, skill'd in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.
Around in sympathetic mirth

Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart

To sooth the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,

And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the hermit spied,

With answering care oppress'd : “And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,

“ The sorrows of thy breast?
“ 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.
Surprised be 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 :
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 heaven 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 suitors came, Who praised me for imputed charms,

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 power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had,

But these were all to me. “ The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display

To emulate his mind. “ 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 tried each fickle art,

İmportunate 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 I." « 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.

r. Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restored to love and thee. “ Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign :
And shall we never, never part,

My life--my all that's mine?

“ No, never, 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.”

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