But mine the forrow, mine the fault,
And well my life fhall pay;
I'll feek the folitude he fought,
And ftretch me where he lay.

And there forlorn, defpairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
"Twas fo for me that EDWIN did,

And fo for him will I.

Forbid it, Heaven! the hermit cry'd,
And clafp'd her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turn'd to chide,
'Twas EDWIN's felf that preft.

Turn, ANGELINA, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to fee,

Thy own, thy long-loft EDWIN here,

Reftor'd to love and thee,

Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And ev'ry care resign:

And fhall we never, never part,

My life-my

all that's mine?

No

No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;

The figh that rends thy constant heart,

Shall break thy EDWIN's too.

GOLDSMITH,

OF

F Leinster fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;

Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid ftream
Reflect a fairer face.

'Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rofy hue,

Her coral lips, her damask cheeks,
And eyes of gloffy blue.

Oh! have you feen the lily pale

When beating rains defcend?

So droop'd this flow-confuming maid,

Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flatt'ring fwains
Take heed, ye eafy fair!

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured fwains, beware!

Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And fhrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapp'd her wing.

'Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn-boding found,
And thus in dying words bespoke
The maidens weeping round.

I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which fays I must not stay ;

I fee a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.

By a falfe heart, and broken vows,
In early youth I die :

Was I to blame, because the bride

Is twice as rich as I?

Ah,

Ah, CoLIN, give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone!

Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs,
And think him all thy own!

To-morrow in the church to wed

Impatient both prepare :

But know, fond maid, and know, falfe man, That Lucy will be there.

Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;

He in his wedding-trim fo gay,

I in my winding sheet!

She spoke and dy'd, her corfe was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;

He in his wedding-trim fo gay,

She in her winding fheet.

Oh what were perjur'd COLIN's thoughts? How were thofe nuptials kept?

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept.

Compaffion,

Compaffion, fhame, remorfe, despair,
At once his bofom fwell:

The damps of death bedew'd his brows,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride, a bride no more,
The varying crimson fled;
When, ftretch'd befide her rival's corse,
She faw her husband dead.

He to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
One mold with her, beneath one fod,
For ever now remains.

Oft at this place the conftant hind
And plighted maid are seen :
With garlands gay, and true love knots
They deck the facred green.

But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallowed spot forbear !
Remember COLIN's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

TICKELL