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"Forbid it, Heav'n !" the hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast: The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's felf that preft.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

66

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 refign:

"And fhall 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 figh that rends thy conftant heart, "Shan break thy Edwin's too.

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REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow,

Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor,
Againft the houseless ftranger fhuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies,
A weary wafte expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee:
brother turns, with ceafelefs pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Still to my

*** In this poem feveral alterations were made, and Some new verfes added, as it paffed through different editions.-We have printed it from the ninth, which was the laft edition published in the lifetime of the author.

Eternal bleffings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian faints attend;
Bleft be that fpot, where chearful guests retire
To paufe from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire;
Bleft that abode, where want and pain repair,
And ev'ry ftranger finds a ready chair.

Bleft be thofe feafts with fimple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale,
Or prefs the bafhful ftranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not deftin'd fuch delights to share,
My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care :
Impell'd, with fteps unceafing, to purfue

Some flceting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies;
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no fpot of all the world my own.

Ev'n now, where Alpine folitudes afcend, I fit me down a penfive hour to spend ; And, plac'd on high above the ftorm's career, Look downward, where an hundred realms appear; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the fhepherd's humble pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidst the fore, fhould thanklefs pride repine? Say, fhould the philofophic mind difdain

That good, which makes each humbler bofom vain?
Let fchool-taught pride diffemble all it can,
Thefe little things are great to little man ;
And wifer he, whose fympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glitt'ring towns with wealth and fplendor crown'd
Ye fields where fummer fpreads profufion round.

Ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the bufy gale,
Ye bending fwains, that drefs the flow'ry vale,
For me your tributary ftores combine;
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.

As fome lone mifer vifiting his ftore, Bends at his treafure, counts, recounts it o'er; Hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill, Yet ftill he fighs, for hoards are wanting ftill: Thus to my breaft alternate paffions rife, Pleas'd with each good that heav'n to man supplies: Yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall, To fee the hoard of human blifs so small; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find Some spot to real happinefs confign'd, Where my worn-foul, each wand'ring hope at reft, May gather blifs to fee my fellows bleft.

But where to find that happiest spot below, Who can direct when all pretend to know? The fhudd'ring. tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happieft fpot his own, Extols the treasures of his ftormy feas, And his long night of revelry and ease; The naked negro, panting at the line, Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine, Basks in the glare, or ftems the tepid wave, And thanks his Gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boaft, where'er we roam, His firft beft country ever is, at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare And eftimate the bleffings which they share, Tho' patriots flatter, ftill fhall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind, As different good, by art or nature given, To different nations make their bleffings even.

Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her blifs at labour's earnest call ;

With food as well the peafant is fupply'd
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's fhelvy fide;
And though the rocky crefted fummits frown,
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.
From art more various are the bleffings fent;
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content.
Yet these each other's pow'r fo ftrong conteft,
That either féems deftructive of the reft.

Where wealth and freedom reign contentment fails,
And honour finks where commerce long prevails.
Hence ev'ry state to one lov'd bleffing prone,
Conforms and models life to that alone.
Each to the fav'rite happiness attends,
And fpurns the plan that aims at other ends;
'Till, carried to excefs in each domain,
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.

But let us view thefe truths with clofer eyes, And trace them through the prospect as it lies: Here for a while my proper cares refign'd, Here let me fit in forrow for mankind, Like yon neglected fhrub at random caft, That fhades the fteep, and fighs at ev'ry blast.

Far to the right where Appennine afcends, Bright as the fummer, Italy extends; Its uplands floping deck the mountain's fide, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride; While oft fome temple's mould'ring top between, With venerable grandeur marks the scene.

Could nature's bounty fatisfy the breast, The fons of Italy were furely bleft.

Whatever fruits in different climes were found,
That proudly rife, or humbly court the ground;
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,

Whofe bright fucceffion decks the varied year;
Whatever fweets falute the northern sky
With vernal lives that bloffom but to die;

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