‘Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; 70 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, 75 But 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. 80 ‘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, 85 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: 90 The lovely stranger stands confess’d A maid in all her charms. ‘And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn,’ she cried; ‘Whose feet unhallow’d thus intrude 95 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. 100 ‘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. ‘To win me from his tender arms 105 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 strove: 110 Amongst the rest young Edwin bow’d, But never talk’d of love. ‘In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had, 115 But these were all to me. ‘And when beside me in the dale He caroll’d lays of love; His breath lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove. 120 ‘The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refin’d, Could nought of purity display, To emulate his mind. ‘The dew, the blossom on the tree, 125 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: 130 And while his passion touch’d my heart, I triumph’d in his pain.