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XXI. “For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush— And spurn the sex,” he said; But, while he spoke, a rising blush

His lovelorn guest betray'd:

Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise
Swift mantling to the view—
Like colors 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 heaven 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 liv'd 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 suitors came ;
Who prais'd 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.


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“In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he,
Wisdom and worth were all he had —

But these were all to me.


“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.


“The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refin'd,
Could naught of purity display

To emulate his mind;

XXXII. “The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine: Their charms were his; but, woe 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.

“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;
'T was so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I.”

“Forbid it, Heaven" the hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wondering fair-one turn'd to chide —

'T was Edwin's self that press'd.

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