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" Each hour a mercenary crowd

“ With richest proffers Atrove “ Among the reft young Edwin bow'd,

« But never talkid of love,

“ In humble, fimpleft habit clad,

“ No wealth or pow'r had he;
66 Wisdom and worth were all he had,

". But these were all to me.
· The blossom op'ning to the day, 11

" The dews of heav'n refin'd,
“ Could nought of purity display,

" To emulate his mind.

56 The dew, the blossoms of the tree,

" With charms inconstant shine ;
Their charms were his, but woe to me,
6. Their constancy was mine,


For ftill I try'd each fickle art, 71

“ Importunate and vain ; " And while his paflion 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 fecret, where he dy'd.

life shall pay;

" But mine the forrow, mine the fault,
66 And well

" I'll seek the folitude he fought,

" And stretch me where he lay.

And there, forlorn, despairing hid,

6 I'll lay me down and die ! “ 'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

" And so for him will I."

• Forbid it, Heav'n !" the hermit cry'd,

And clafp'd her to his breast :
The wond'ring fair one turn’d to chide,

'Twas Edwin's self that prest.

“ Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

“ My charmer, turn to see " Thy own, thy long-loft Edwin here,

" Restor'd to love and thee.

« Thus let me hold thee to my piheart,

" And ev'ry care resign: " 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 figh that rends thy constant heart,

“ Shall break thy Edwin's too.

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EMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,

Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor,
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the fkies ;

. I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravell’d fondly turns to thee:
Still to my brother turms, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.


* In this poem feveral alterations were made, and fome new verses added, as it passed through different aditions. We have printed it from the ninth, which was the last edition published in the lifetime of the author.

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend;
Bleft be that spot, where chearful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire ;
Blelt that abode, where want and pain repair,
And ev'ry ftranger finds a ready chair.
Bleft be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jeste or pranks that never fail,
Or ligh with pity at some mournful tale,
Or press the bashful itranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destin'd such delights to share, My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care : Impell’d, with steps unceafing, to pursue Some flceting good, that mocks me with the view ; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies ; Allures from far, yet, as I follow, fies; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no spot of all the world my own.

Ev'n now, where Alpine folitudes ascend, I fit me down a pensive hour to spend ; And, plac'd on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred reálms appear ; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humble pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidft the store, should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philofophic mind disdain That good, which makes each humbler bofom vain? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man ; And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind. Ye glitt'ring towns with wealth and splendor crown'd Ye fields where summer spreads profufion round.

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale,
Ye bending (wains, that dress the flow'ry vale,
For me your tributary stores combine ;
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.

As some lone mifer visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, Yet still he fighs, for hoards are wanting fill : Thus to my breast alternate paflions rise, Pleas'd with each gnod that heav'n to man supplics : Yet oft a figh prevails, and sorrow's fall, To see the board of human bliss so small; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find Some spot to real happiness consign'd, Where my worn-foul, cach wand'ring hope at reit, May gather bliss to see my fellows bleft.

But where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct when all pretend to know?
The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid.zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own,
Extols ihe treasures of his formy seas,
And his long night of revelry and ease;
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or items the tepid wave,
And thanks his Gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boart, where'er we roam,
His first best country ever is, at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare
And estimate the bleffings which they share,
Tho' patriots flatter, till fall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind,
As different good, by art or nature given,
To different nations make their blellings even.

Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call ;

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