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Long had he seen their mutual flame,

And seen it long anmov'd;
Then with a father's frown at last,

He sternly disapprov'd.

In Edwin's gentle heart a war.

Of differing passions strove;
His heart which durst not disobey,

Yet could not cease to love.

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Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

Where Emma walk'd and wept.

Oft too in Stanmore's wintry waste,

Beneath the moonlight shade, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul

The midnight mourner stray'd.

His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd,

A deadly pale o'ercast;
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed,
And wearied Heav'n with fruitless pray'ns,

And fruitless sorrows shed.

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' 'Tis past,' he cried, “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, mp3fY) !

And bath'd with many a tear ;-) Fast falling o'er the primrose pale

So morning dews appear.

But oh! his sister's jealous care

(A cruel sister she !). Forbad what Enima came to say,

‘My Edwin, live for me.!

Now homeward as she hopeless went

The church-yard path along,
The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd

Her lover's funeral song,

Amid the falling gloom of night

Her startling fancy found
In every bush bis hovering shade,
His
groan

in

every sound.

Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd

The visionary vale,
When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale!

Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door, 'He's gone,' she cried, and I shall see

That angel face no more !

'I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my side :'
From her white arm down sunk her head ;

She, shivering, sigh’d and died. 1. Mallet.

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WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

When all was wrapp'd in dark midnight,

And all were fast asleep,
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,

And stood at William's feet.
Her face was like the April morn

Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay cold was her lily hand,

That held the sable shroud.
So shall the fairest face appear

When youth and years are flown; Such is the robe that kings must wear

When death has reft their crown.
Her bloom was like the springing flow'r

That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in ber cheek,

And opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker-worm,

Consum'd her early prime;
The rose grew pale, and left her cbeck;

She died before her time. * Awake!' she cried, thy true-love calls,

Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid

Thy love refus'd to save:
"This is the dark and fearful hour

When injur'd ghosts complain :
Now dreary graves give up their dead,

To haunt the faithless swain.

'Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,

Thy pledge and broken oath,
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.

“How could you say my face was fair,

And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin heart,

Yet leave that heart to break?

How could you promise love to me,

And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?

'How could you say my lip was sweet,

And made the scarlet pale ?
And why did I, young witless maid,

Believe the flattering tale?

"That face, alas! no more is fair,

That lip no longer red;
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,

And every charm is fled.

'The hungry worm my sister is,

This winding sheet I wear ;
And cold and weary lasts our night

Till that last morn appear.

But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence:

A long and last adien! Come see,

false man ! how low she lies That died for love of you.'

Now birds did sing, and Morning smild,

And show'd her glittering head; Pale William shook in every limb,

Then, raving, left his bed.
He hied him to the fatal place

Where Margʻret's body lay,
And stretch'd him on the green-grass turf

That wrapp'd her breathless clay:
And thrice he call'd on Marg'ret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore;
Then laid his cheek to the cold eartb,
And word spoke never more.

Mallet.

LUCY AND COLIN. Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,

Bright Lucy was the grace ;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

Reflect so fair a face;
Till luckless love, and pining care,

Impair'd her rosy bue,
Her coral lips and danjask cheeks,

And eyes of glossy blue.
O have you seen a lily pale,

When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,

Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains

Take heed, ye easy fair;
Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Ye perjur'd swains, beware.

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