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THE BRITISH

POETICAL MISCELLANY.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

BY DR. GOLDSMITH.

YURN, gentle hermit of the dale!

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“ To where yon taper cheers the vale,

“ With hospitable ray.
*** For here forlorn and loft I tread,

“ With fainting steps and slow,
“ Where wilds, immeasurably spread,

“ Seem length’ning as I go.”
“ Forbear, my son!” the hermit cries,

" 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.
“ No flocks, that range the valley free,

“ To slaughter I condemn:
Taught by that Pow'r that pities me,

“ I learn to pity them:

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“ But from the mountain's grassy lide

“ A guiltless feast I bring ; A scrip 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."
Soft, as the dew from heav'n descends,

His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,

And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure

The lonely manfion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,

And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch

Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,

Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire

To take their ev’ning rest,
The hermit trimm'd his little fire,

And cheer'd his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,

And gayly press and smil'd; And, ikili'd in legendary lore,

The ling’ring hours beguild.
Around, in sympathetic mirth,

Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,

The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart

To soothe the Itranger's woe;
For grief was heavy ai his heart,

And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the hermit spy'd,

With answ'ring care oppress’d: " And whence, unhappy youth!” he cry’d,

“ The sorrows of thy breast ?

- From better habitations spurnd,

“ 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 still 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 jest! “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.
Surpris’d, he sees new beauties rise,

Swift mantling to the view,
Like colours o'er the morning skies,

As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confess’d

A maid in all her charms.
" And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude,

“ A wretch forlorn,” she cry'd, 16 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

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* 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,

" And these were all to me. “ The blossom op’ning to the day,

6. 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 fought a solitude forlorn,

“ In secret, where he dy'd. “ But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 66 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; 66 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

" And so for him will I."
Forbid it, Heav'n!" the hermit cry'd,

And clasp'd her to his breast;
The wond'ring fair one turn’d to chide ;

'Twas Edwin's self that press’d.

“ 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.
6. And shall we never, never part,

My life !-my all that's mine?
“ No, never, from this hour to part,

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

“ Shall break thy Edwin's too."

EL EGY.

On the DEATH of an UNFORTUNATE LADY.

BY ALEXANDER POPE, ESQ.

WHAT beck’ning

ghoft

; along the moon-light fhade,
'Tis she!—but why that bleeding bosom gorid,
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
O ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it in heav'n a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm-a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think or bravely die ?

Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire ?
Ambition first sprung

bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods :
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Most souls, 'tis true, peep out but once an age,
Dall fullen pris'ners in the body's cage :
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Uselels, unseen, as lamps in fepulchres ;

from your

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