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EDWIN AND EMMA.
Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,
The midnight mourner stray'd.
His cheek, where health with beanty 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!) Forbade what Emma came to say,
“My Edwin, live for me !"
Now homeward as she hopeless wept
The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lover's funeral song,
Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door: " He's gone!" she cried, “ and I shall see
That angel-face no more!
"I feel, I feel, this breaking heart
Beat high against my side!”.
She shiver'd, sigli'd, and died.
So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
here, or come ye in war,
" ( come ye
"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
The bride kiss'd the goblet : the knight took it up,
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
She is won! we are gone, over Lank, bush, and scaur;
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;