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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
* 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.