XXIII.

The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:

The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.

XXIV.

"And ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried;
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside.

XXV.

"But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

XXVI.

"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.

XXVII.

"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came;
Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.

XXVIII.

"Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Amongst the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

XXIX.

"In humble simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

XXX.

"And when, beside me in the dale,
He carol'd lays of love,

His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.

XXXI.

"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of Heaven refin'd,
Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.

XXXII.

"The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his, but wo to me,
Their constancy was mine.

XXXIII.

"For still I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain :

XXXIV.

"Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.

XXXV.

"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.

XXXVI.

"And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."

XXXVII.

"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 prest.

XXXVIII.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor❜d to love and thee.

XXXIX.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life my all that's mine?

XL.

"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."

AN

ELEGY

ON THE

DEATH OF A MAD DOG.*

7

Good people all, of

every sort,

Give ear unto my song,

And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

*This, and the following poem, appeared in The Vicar of Wakefield, which was published in the year 1765.

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That shew'd the rogues they lied;
The man recover'd of the bite,
The dog it was that died.