Ah me! neglected on the lonesome plain, As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, Save when against the winter's drenching rain, And driving snow, the cottage shut the door. Then, as instructed by tradition hoar, Her legend when the beldam 'gan impart, Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er, Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart; Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful art. 44 Various and strange was the long-winded tale; And halls, and knights, and feats of arms display'd; Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid; The moonlight revel of the fairy glade; Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood, And ply in caves the unutterable trade, [3] 'Midst fiends and spectres quench the Moon in blood, Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood. 45 But when to horror his amazement rose, A gentler strain the beldam would rehearse, A tale of rural life, a tale of woes, The orphan babes, and guardian uncle fierce. O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce That heart, by lust of lucre sear'd to stone? For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse, To latest times shall tender souls bemoan Those hopeless orphan babes by thy fell arts undone. 46 Behold, with berries smear'd, with brambles torn, [4] The babes, now famish'd, lay them down to die: Amidst the howl of darksome woods forlorn, Folded in one another's arms they lie; Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry: "For from the town the man returns no more." But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy, This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore, When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store. 47 A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear,-- "But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy, And innocence thus die by doom severe?" O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere, The assaults of discontent and doubt repel: Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere; But let us hope; to doubt is to rebel: Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well. 48 Nor be thy generous indignation check'd, Nor check'd the tender tear to Misery given; From Guilt's contagious power shall _that_ protect, _This_ soften and refine the soul for Heaven. But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has driven To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego: Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, Perfection, beauty, life, they never know, But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe. 49