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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;
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
Restor'd to love and thee.
Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And ev'ry care resign:
My life my 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.
OF 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,
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 !
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:
Is twice as rich as 12.5
Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone!
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 !
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?
And all the village wept.
Compassion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell :
He shook, he groan'd, he fell,
From the vain bride, á bride no more,
The varying crimson fled; When, stretch'd beside her rivals 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.