For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain; And while his passion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain.

Till quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn,

In secret where he died.

But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought,

And stretch me where he lay.

And there forlorn, despairing, hid,

I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I,

Forbid it, Heaven! the hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast : The wondering fair one turn’d to chide,

'Twas Edwin's self that prest.

Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long lost Edwin here,

Restor'd to love and thee,

Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And ev'ry care resign:
And shall we never, never part,

My lifemy all that's mine?

No, never from this hour to part,

We'll live and love so true ; The sigh that rends thy constant heart,

Shall break thy Edwin's too.

COLIN AND LUCY.

[By Tickell.]

Or Leinster, fam’d for maidens fair,

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

Reflect a fairer face.

Till luckless love and pining care

Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lips, her damask cheeks,

And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen the lily pale

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

Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn’d, of flatt'ring swains

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

Ye perjured swains, beware!

Three times all in the dead of night,

A bell was heard to ring; And shrieking at her window thrice,

The raven flapp'd her wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

The solemn-boding sound,
And thus in dying words bespoke,

The maidens weeping round.

I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which

says

I must not stay ; I see a hand you cannot see,

Which beckons me away.

By a false heart, and broken vows,

In early youth I die :
Was I to blame, because the bride

Is twice as rich as I 3.

Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows,

Vows due to me alone !
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,

And think him all thy own !

To-morrow in the church to wed

Impatient both prepare:
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,

That Lucy will be there.

Then bear my corse, ye comrades dear,

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; He in his wedding trim so gay,

I in my winding sheet !

1

She spoke and died, her corse was borne,

The bridegroom blithe to meet; He in his wedding-trim so gay,

She in her winding sheet.

Oh! what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?

How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept.

Compassion, shame, remorse, despair,

At once his bosom swell :
The damps of death bedew'd his brows,

He shook, he groan'd, he fell,

From the vain bride, a bride no more,

The varying crimson fled; When, stretch'd beside her rival's corse,

She saw her husband dead.

He to his Lucy's new-made grave,

Convey'd by trembling swains, One mould with her, beneath one sod,

For ever now remains.

Oft at this place the constant hind

And plighted maid are seen : With garlands gay, and true love knots

They deck the sacred green.

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,

This hallowed spot forbear! Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

And fear to meet him there.