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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

15, 1714.

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* 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;
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her bleft, and die.

The softest blush that nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek :
Such orient colour smiles thro' heaven'

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 ;
And from whofe cye, ferenely mild,

Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught;

Was quickly too reveal'd :
For neither bosom lodg'd a wifh,

That virtue keeps conceal's.

What happy hours of home-felt bliss

Did love on both beltow !
But blifs too mighty long to last,

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 :
His heart, that durft not disobey,

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 :
So fades the frefs rose in its prime,

Before the northern blaft.

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The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed ;
And weary'd heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrow shed.

'Tis paft ! he cry'd--but if your souls

Sweet mercy yet can move,
Let these dim eyes once more behold,

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 !
Forbade what Emma came to say ;

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.

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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-
He's gone! she cry'd; and I shall see

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.

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