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"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the trifling 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.

Surprised 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 confest

A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
And wretch forlorn," she cried;
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside.

“But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to stray;

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Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

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"The dew, the blossom on the tree,

With charms inconstant shine;

Their charms were his : but, woe to me,

Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art,

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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.

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"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,

And well my life shall pay;

I'll seek the solitude he sought,

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"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried,

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

And clasp'd her to his breast:

'T was Edwin's self that prest.

My charmer, turn to see

The wondering fair-one turn'd to chide,—

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Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restored to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign:

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And shall we never, never part,

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."

GOLDSMITH.

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Whose only wish on earth was now

EDWIN AND EMMA.

FAR in the windings of a vale,
Fast by a sheltering wood,

The safe retreat of Health and Peace,
A humble cottage stood.

Beneath a mother's eye;

To see her blest, and die.

There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair,

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Each maiden with despair;

And though by all a wonder own'd,

Yet knew not she was fair:

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art,

And from whose eyes, serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught;
Was quickly too reveal'd:

For neither bosom lodged a wish
That virtue keeps conceal'd.

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What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow!

But bliss too mighty long to last,
Where fortune proves a foe.

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Long had he seen their secret flame,
And seen it long unmoved:

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Denied her sight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.

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 beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercast:

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