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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 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

Where Heav'n 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 suiters came,
Who praised me for imputed charms,

And felt or feign'd a flame.

Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove ; Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

But never talk'd of love.

“In humble, simplest habit clad,

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

But these were all to me.

“ And when, beside me in the dale,

He carolld lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,

And music to the grove.

“ The blossom op'ning to the day,

The dews of Heav'n refined, Could naught of purity display

To emulate his mind.

“The dew, the blossoms of the tree,

With charms inconstant shine ; Their charms were his; but, wo 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 triumph'd 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 1."

“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 press'd.

Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restored to love and thee.
6. Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

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,

We'll live and love so true,
The sigh that rends thy constant heart

Shall break thy Edwin's too.”

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain, Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, And parting Summer's lingʻring blooms delay'd : Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please : How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I paused on ev'ry charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighb'ring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whisp’ring lovers made ! How often have I bless'd the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree : While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired :
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown,
By holding out, to tire each other down ;
The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:
These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like

these,
With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;
These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms—but all these charms are

fed.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amid thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green :
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain :
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bow'rs in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o’ertops the mould'ring wall;
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to hast’ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ;
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made :
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When ev'ry rood of ground maintain'd its man;

For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life required, but gave no more:
His best companions, innocence and health,
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ;
Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ;
And ev'ry want to luxury allied,
And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene,
Lived in each look, and brighten'd all the green;
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's pow'r.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds,
Amid thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs-and God has giv'n my share
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amid these humble bow'rs to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose :
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amid the swains to show my book-learn'd skill,
Around my fire an ev’ning group to draw,
And tell of all I felt and all I saw;
And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return and die at home at last.

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