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. [Illustration: 0026] And, "Ah! forgive a stranger rude-- A 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; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. "My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was mark'd as mine-- He had but only me. "To win me from his tender arms, Unnumber'd suitors came, Who praised me for imputed charms, And felt, or feigned, a flame. "Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest, young Edwin bowed, But never talked of love. "In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me. "And when beside me in the dale, He carolled lays of love, His breath lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove. "The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display To emulate his mind. "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, Importunate and vain; And, while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumphed 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. "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; I'll seek the solitude he sought, 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." "Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast: The wondering 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-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee. "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign: 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." ----O. Goldsmith. [Illustration: 9029] |Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song;