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Long had he seen their mutual flame,
And seen it long unmov'd:

Then, with a father's frown, at last
He sternly disapprov'd..

In Edwin's gentle heart a war
Of diff'ring passions strove:
His heart, which durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.

Deny'd 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, on Stanmore's wint'ry 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 weary'd Heav'n with fruitless pray'rs, And fruitless sorrow shed.

'Tis past, 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 :
First-falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.

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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

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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 cry'd, 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, shiver'd, sigh'd, and died.



WHEN o'er the Alpine heights chill Winter spreads His hoary mantle; when the thick'ning air Descends in feather'd flakes; each prospect now

How wild, how shapeless! Streams which us'd to flow

With hasty currents, lazy creep, beneath

Th' incumbent snow. The tall fir's loaded branch Waves like the ostrich plume: the fleecy show'r

Whirl'd in its falling,

And faithless levels.

forms unreal hills

Cautious be his steps,

Who thro' these regions journeys while they wear
Their cold and dreary aspect, lest from above
The snowy piles o'erwhelm him: frequent now
From parts remote their sullen sound is heard,
Striking the startled ear: by eddying winds
Or agitating sounds, the loosen'd snow

First mov'd, augmenting slides, then nodding o'er
The headlong steep, plunges in air, and rolls
With one vast length of ruin to the vale
Aghast beneath it the pale traveller sees
The falling promontory-sees-and dies!-

'Midst its sad victims, from the house of death Let me recal one true, one wretched pair It sunk untimely to the tomb. The tale I've heard from shepherds, as they pointed out The spot their story noted, and have dropt For hapless love a sympathising tear.

In a lone vale, wash'd by th' impetuous Arve, Beneath the shade its tallest mountain threw,

Matilda dwelt, the sole remaining hope

Of old Alberto, whose paternal farm

Cover'd with flocks and herds spread wide around.
Hers was each blushing charm which youth may boast
When Nature grows profuse; hers too each pow'r,
Attended with each studious wish to please.

Fair as the bloom of May, and mildly sweet
As the soft gales that with their vernal wings
Fan the first op'ning flow'rs. Each neighbouring swain
Had sigh'd and languish'd, on the tender bark
Inscrib'd the fair one's name, or to her ear
Whisper'd his love,-in vain!—None, none were heard,
Save young Rodolpho, whose prevailing form
Had won her to his favour: on his brow
Sat native comeliness, and manly fire
O'er all diffus'd its lustre. Yet with her
His gen'rous mind most


sway'd, where shone each

That delicacy knows, far more refin'd

Than suits the happy! Much he had convers'd With rev'rend age, and learn'd from thence to prize A rural life, learn'd to prefer the peace

Of his own woods, to the discordant din

Of populous cities. What but fate could bar
Their wishes? What indeed! The morn was fix'd
To seal their plighted faith, the bridegroom rose

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