THE BRITISH POETICAL MISCELLANY. EDWIN AND ANGELINA. BY DR. GOLDSMITH. YURN, gentle hermit of the dale! “ To where yon taper cheers the vale, “ With hospitable ray. “ With fainting steps and slow, “ Seem length’ning as I go.” " To tempt the dang’rous gloom ; “ For yonder faithless phantom flies, " To lure thee to thy doom. " Here to the houseless child of want “ My door is open fill; " And though my portion is but scant, “ I give it with good will. " Then turn to-night, and freely share “ Whate'er my cell bestows; “ My rushy couch and frugal fare, "My blessing and repole. “ To slaughter I condemn: “ I learn to pity them: “ But from the mountain's grassy lide “ A guiltlefs feast I bring “ A fcrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, “ And water from the spring. “ Then, pilgrim! turn, thy cares forego, “ All earth-born cares are wrong; “ Man wants but little here below, “ Nor wants that little long." His gentle accents fell: And follows to the cell. The lonely manfion lay; And strangers led aftray. Requir'd a inafter's care; Receiv’d the harmless pair. , And cheer'd his pensive guest: And spread his vegetable store, And gayly press'd and smild; And, skill'd in legendary lore, The ling’ring hours beguild. Its tricks the kitten tries; The crackling faggot flies. To soothe the Itranger's woe; And tears began to flow. With answ'ring care oppressid: " And whence, unhappy youth!” he cry'd, “ The sorrows of thy breast? a - From better habitations spurnid, 66 Reluctant dost thou rove? " Or grieve for friendship unreturn’d, “ Or unregarded love? " Alas! the joys that fortune brings “ Are trifling, and decay; " And those who prize the paltry things, “ More trifling fill than they. " And what is friendship but a name, “ A charm that lulls to sleep; “ A shade that follows wealth or fame, “ And leaves the wretch to weep! " And love is still an emptier sound, “ The modern fair one's jeft! “ On earth unseen, or only found “ To warm the turtle's nest. " For shame! fond youth! thy sorrows hush, “ And spurn the sex !” he said ; But, while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray’d. Swift mantling to the view, As bright, as transient too. Alternate spread alarms; A maid in all her charms. “ A wretch forlorn,” she cry'd, " Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude " Where Heav'n and you reside. “ But let a maid thy pity share, “ Whom love has taught to stray; “ Who seeks for rest, but finds despair “ Companion of her way. “ My father liv'd beside the Tyne, “ A wealthy lord was he; " And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, " He had but only me. 66 a 66 * To win me from his tender arms, “ Unnumber'd suitors came ;. “Who prais'd me for imputed charms, “ And felt, or feign'd, a flame. “ Each hour, a mercenary crowd, “ With richest proffers, ftrove; “ Among the rest young Edwin bowd; “ But never talk'd of love. “ In humble, simplest habit clad, “ No wealth or pow'r had he: “ Wisdom and worth were all he had, 66 And these were all to me. “ The blossom op’ning to the day, “ The dews of heav'n refin'd, “ Could naught of purity display, " To emulate his mind. “ The dew, the blossoms of the tree, “ With charms inconstant, shine; “ Their charms were his, but, woe to me! “ Their constancy was mine. • For still I try'd 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 dy'd. " But mine the forrow, mine the fault, “ And well my life shall pay; “ I'll seek the solitude he fought, “ 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." And clasp'd her to his breast; 'Twas Edwin's self that press’d. “ Turn, Angelina! ever dear, My charmer! turn to see “ Restor'd to love and thee. “ And ev'ry care resign. My life !--my all that's mine? 6 We'll live and love so true; “ Shall break thy Edwin's too." EL E G Y. On the DEATH of an UNFORTUNATE LADY. BY ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ. ? a THAT beck’ning ghost, along the moon-light shade, Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her soul aspire |