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'Tis she does the virgins excel,
No beauty with her can compare, Love's graces all round her do dwell,
She's fairest where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray ?
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed : Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay,
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed. x
EDWIN AND EMMA.
Fast by a sheltering wood,
An humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair
Beneath a mother's eye,
To see her blest, and die.
The softest blush that nature spreads
1 Gave colour to her cheek; Such orient colour smiles thro' heav'n
When May's sweet mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn
This charmer of the plains; That sun which bids their diamond blaze,
To deck our lily deigns.
Long had she fir'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 swains,
A soul that knew no art,
Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual flame was quickly caught,
Was quickly too reveal'd;
Which virtue keeps conceal’d.
What happy hours of heartfelt bliss,
Did love on both bestow!
Where fortune proves a foe.
His sister, who like envy form’d,
Like her in mischief joy'd,
Each darker art employ'd.
The father too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the rock
From whence his riches grew.
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 differing passions strove ;
Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her sight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept
Where Emma walk'd and wept.
Oft too in Stanemore's wintry 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;
Before the northern blast.
The parents now, with late remorse,
Hung o'er his dying bed,
And fruitless sorrows shed.
'Tis past, he cried, 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; Fast falling o'er the primrose pale
So morning dews appear.
But oh ! his sister's jealous care
(A cruel sister she !) Forbad what Emma came to say,
My Edwin, live for me.
Now homeward as she hopeless went,
The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lover's fun'ral song,
Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
His groan in every sound.
Alone, appallid, thus had she pass'd
The visionary vale,
Sad sounding in the gale.
Just then she reach'd with trembling steps,
Her aged mother's door;
gone, she cried, and I shall see
I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high against my side :
She shiver'd, sigh’d, and died.
H E western sky was purpled o'er,
The sultry heat of day;
When from a hazel's artless bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue;
While Nancy's praise he sung.