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No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
Received the harmless pair.
To take their evening rest,
And cheer'd his pensive guest
And gaily press'd, and smiled; And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The lingering hours beguiled.
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The crackling faggot flies.
To sooth the stranger's woe;
And tears began to flow.
With answering care oppress'd : " And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,
“ The sorrows of thy breast? “From better babitations spurn’d,
Reluctant dost thou rove; Or grieve for
unreturn’d, Or unregarded love!
« Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trilling, and decay;
More trifling still than they.
A charm that lulls to sleep ;
And leaves the wretch to weep?
The modern fair ope'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.
Swift mantling to the view;
As bright, as transient too.
Alternate spread alarms :
A maid in all her charms.
“And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried ; “Whose feet unballow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and 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.
Uppumber'd suitors came,
And felt, or feign’d a flame.
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,
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. 66 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. * Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Restored to love and thee.
« Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign:
My life—my all that's mine?