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AR in the windings of a vale,
Faft by a sheltering wood, The fafe 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 loftest blush that nature spreads
Gave colour to her cheek :
When May's sweet mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones fcorn
This charmer of the plains : That sun 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 Me was fair,
Till Edwin came, the pride of fwains,
A soul that knew no art;
Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual fame was quickly caught;
Was quickly too reveal'd :
That virtue keeps conceal'd.
What happy hours of home-felt bliss
Did love on both bestow!
Where fortune proves a foe.
His fister, 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 fordid man,
Who love nor pity knew, Was all-unfeeling as the clod,
From whence his riches grew.
Long had he seen their secret flame,
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 paffions (trove :
Yet could not cease to love.
Deny'd her fight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
Where Emma walk'd and wept.
Oft too on Stanemore's wintry wade,
Beneath the moonlight-shade, In fighs to pour his soften’d soul,
The midnight-mourner stray'd.
His check, where health with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale 'o'ercast :
Before the northern blast.
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 she hopeless wept
The church-yard path along,
Her lover's funeral song.
Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
Alone, appal'd, thus had the past
The visionary valeWhen lo! the death-bell [mote her ear,
Sad-founding in the gale!
Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door
That angel-face no more !
I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high againft my fidem From her white arm down funk her head;
She shivering figh’d, and died.
TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
“And guide iny lonely way, " To where yon taper cheers the vale,
“ With hospitable ray.
" For here forlorn and lost I tread,
“ With fainting iteps and flow; “ Where wilds immeasurably spread,
“ Seem lengthening as I go."
" Forbear my fon," the hermit cries,
“ To tempt the dang'roue gloom; • For yonder faithleso phantom files " To lure thee to thy doom.