EDWIN AND EMMA.

There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair,
Beneath a mother's eye;

Whose only wish on earth was now
To see her bless'd, and die.

The softest blush that Nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek;

Such orient colour smiles through heav'n, When vernal mornings break.

Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

This charmer of the plains:

That sun, which bids their diamonds blaze,

To paint our lily deigns.

Long had she fill'd each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair;

And though by all a wonder own'd,
Yet knew not she was fair:

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art;

And from whose eye, serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught,
Was quickly, too, reveal'd;
For neither bosom lodg'd a wish
That virtue keeps conceal'd.

What happy hours of heart-felt bliss
Did Love on both bestow !

But bliss too mighty long to last,
Where Fortune proves a foe.

EDWIN AND EMMA.

His sister, who, like Envy form'd,
Like her in mischief joy'd,

To work them harm, with wicked skill
Each darker art employ'd.

Her father, too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew,
Was all unfeeling as the clod
From whence his riches grew.

Long had he seen their secret flame,
And seen it long unmov'd;
Then with a father's frown at last
He sternly disapprov'd.

In Edwin's gentle heart a war
Of differing passions strove ;
His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.

Denied her sight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.

Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade,

In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,

The midnight mourner stray'd.

His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,

A deadly pale o'ercast:

So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

EDWIN AND EMMA.

The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed;

And wearied Heaven with fruitless vows,

And fruitless sorrows shed.

""Tis past!" he cried; "but, if your souls

Sweet mercy yet can move,

Let these dim eyes once more behold
What they must ever love!"

She came, his cold hand softly touch'd,
And bath'd with many a tear:
Fast falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.

But oh his sister's jealous care

(A cruel sister she!)

Forbade what Emma came to say,

"My Edwin, live for me!"

Now homeward as she hopeless wept

The church-yard path along,

The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song.

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her startling fancy found

In every bush his hov'ring shade,
His groan in every sound.

Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd

The visionary vale

When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale!

EDWIN AND EMMA.

Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door:

"He's gone!" she cried, "and I shall see That angel-face no more!

"I feel, I feel, this breaking heart Beat high against my side!"

From her white arm down sunk her head, She shiver'd, sigh'd, and died.