There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair,
Beneath a mother's eye;

Whose only wish on earth was now

To fee her bleft, and die.

The fofteft blush that nature spreads
Gave colour to her cheek:

Such orient colour smiles thro' heaven
When May's sweet mornings break.

Nor let the pride of great ones fcorn
This charmer of the plains:

That fun who bids their diamond blaze,
To paint our lily deigns.

Long had she fill'd each youth with love,
Each maiden with despair;

And tho' by all a wonder own'd,

Yet knew not she was fair.

Till Edwin came, the pride of fwains,
A foul that knew no art;

And from whofe eye, ferenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught;
Was quickly too reveal'd:

For neither bofom lodg❜d a wish,
That virtue keeps conceal'd.

What

What happy hours of home-felt blifs
Did love on both bestow!

But blifs too mighty long to laft,
Where fortune proves a foe.

His fifter, who, like Envy form'd,
Like her in mifchief joy'd,

To work them harm, with wicked fkill,
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 feen their fecret flame,
And feen it long unmov'd:
Then with a father's frown at last
Had fternly difapprov'd.

In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of different paffions ftrove:
His heart, that durft not difobey,
Yet could not ccafe to love.

Deny'd her fight, he oft behind

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

Where Emma walk'd and wept.

Oft

Oft too on Stanemore's wintry waste,

Beneath the moonlight-shade, In fighs to pour his soften'd soul, The midnight-mourner ftray'd.

His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercaft:

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 heaven with fruitless vows,
And fruitless forrow shed.

'Tis paft! he cry'd-but if your fouls
Sweet mercy yet can move,

Let these dim eyes once more behold,
What they must ever love!

She came; his cold hand foftly 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 fhe!

Forbade what Emma came to say;

My Edwin live for me.

VOL. II.

R

Now

Now homeward as fhe hopeless wept

The church-yard path along,

The blaft blew cold, the dark owl scream'd

Her lover's funeral fong.

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her ftartling fancy found

In every bush his hovering fhade,
His groan in every found.

Alone, appall'd, thus had she past

The vifionary vale

When lo the death-bell fmote her ear,

Sad-founding in the gale!

Juft then the reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door-

He's gone! fhe cry'd; and I fhall fee
That angel-face no more!

I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my fide

From her white arm down funk her head; She fhivering figh’d, and died.

XLI.

THE HERMIT.

TUR

By Dr. Goldsmith.

URN, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way

To where yon taper chears the vale
With hofpitable ray.-

For here, forlorn and loft I tread,
With fainting steps and flow,
Where wilds immeafurably spread
Seem length'ning as I go.

Forbear, my fon, the hermit cries,
To tempt the dang'rous gloom,
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.

Here to the houfelefs child of want
My door is open ftill;

And tho' my portion is but fcant,

I give it with good will: