6 bis inferior. His father, a hard old man, who had by " his toil acquired a handsome competency, expected and re quired that his f2fhoill marry suitably. But, as amor “ vincit oinnia, his heart was unalterably fixed on the pretty young creature already name.t. Their courtship, " which quas all by Jłealth, unknown to the family, con" tinued about a year. When it was found out, old Wright. “ for, his wife, and particularly their crooked daughter “ Hannah, fouted at the maiden, and treated her with “ notable contempt: for they held it as a maxim, and a “ rustic one it is, that blood was nothing without groats. “ The young lover fickened, and took to his bed about “ Shrove-tuesday, and died the Sunday sevennight after. « On the last day of his illness, he desired to fee bis mil tress: she was civily received by the mother, rubo bid " ber quelcomequhen it was too late. But her daughter “ Hannah lay at his back to cut them off from all oppor. si tunity of exchanging their thoughts. “ At her return home, on hearing the bell to toll out for “ his departure, jbe screamed aloud that her heart was burst, and expired some moments after. “ The then curate of * Dowes inserted it in his register, so that they hoth died of love, and were buried in the same grave, March 15, 1714. I am, * Bowes is a small village in Yorkshire, where in former ages the earls of Richmond had a castle. It stands on the edge of that vast and mountanious tract, named by the neighbouring people Stanemore ; which is always expored to wind and weather, defolate and folitary throughout. Camd. Brit, AR in the windings of a vale, The safe retreat of Health and Peace, An humble cottage stood. There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair, Beneath a mother's eye; To see her bleft, and die. The softest blush that nature spreads Gave colour to her cheek : When May's sweet' mornings break. great ones fcorn Nor let the pride of This charmer of the plains : That fun who bids their diamond blaze, To paint our lilly deigns: Long had the fill'd each yonth with love, Each maiden with despair; And tho' by all a wonder own'd, Yet knew not lie 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 : That virtue keeps conceal's. What happy hours of home-felt bliss Did love on both beltow ! Where fortune proves a foe. His filter, who, like Envy form'd, Like her in mischief joy'd, To work them harm, with wicked skill, Each darker art employ'd. The father too, a sordid man, Who love nor pity knew, Was all-unfeeling as the clod, From whence his riches grew. Long had he seen their secret fame, And seen it long unmov'd: Then with a father's frown at last Had sternly disapprov'd. In Edwin's gentle heart, a war Of different passions strove : 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 on Stanemore's wintry waste, Beneath the moonlight-shade, In fighs to pour his foften'd soul, The midnight-mourner stray'd. His check, where health with beauty glow'd, A deadly pale o'ercast : Before the northern blaft. The parents now, with late remorse, Hung o'er his dying bed ; And fruitless sorrow 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 : Faft-falling o'er the primrose pale, So morning-dews appear. But oh! his fifter's jealous care A cruel fifter she ! “ My Edwin live for me.". Now homeward as the hopeless wept The church-yard path along, The blaft blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song. Alone, appal'd, thus had the past The visionary valeWhen lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Sad-founding in the gale ! Just then she reach'd, with trembling ftep, Her aged mother's door- That angel-face no more ! I feel, I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my lideFrom her white arm down sunk her head; She shivering figh'd, and died. |