His rifing cares the Hermit fpy'd, With anfwering care oppreft: "And whence, unhappy youth,” he cry'd, "The forrows of thy breast? "From better habitations fpurn'd, "Reluctant doft thou rove: "Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, "Or unregarded love? "Alas! the joys that fortune brings, "Are trifling and decây; "And those who prize the paltry things, "More trifling still than they. "And what is friendship but a name, "A charm that fulls tò sleep; "A fhade that follows wealth or fame, "And leaves the wretch to weep? "And love is ftill an emptier found, "For fhame, fond youth, thy forrows hufh, "And fpurn the sex,” he said: But while he spoke, a rifing blush His love-lorn gueft betray'd, Sur Surpriz'd he fees new beauties rife, The bashful look, the rifing breast, "And, ah, forgive a stranger rude, "But let a maid thy pity share, "My father liv'd befide 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 fuitors came; "Who prais'd me for imputed charms, "And felt, or feign'd a flame. C 4 "Each "Each hour a mercenary croud "With richest proffers ftrove: Among the reft young Edwin bow'd, "But never talk'd of love. "In humble, fimpleft habit clad, "The bloffom opening to the day, "The dews of heaven refin'd, "Could nought of purity difplay, "To emulate his mind. "The dew, the bloffoms of the tree, "With charms inconftant fhine; "Their charms were his, but wo to me, "Their conftancy was mine. "For ftill I try'd 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, "In fecret, where he dy'd. " But "But mine the forrow, mine the fault, "And there forlorn, defpairing hid, "Forbid it, heaven!" the Hermit cry'd, "Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 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 every care refign: "And fhall we never, never part, "No, never, from this hour to part, "We'll live and love fo true, "The figh that rends thy constant heart, "Shall break thy Edwin's too." ΑΝ GOOD people all, people all, of every fort, Give ear unto my fong; And if you find it wonderous short, In Ifling-ton there was a man, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mungrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This |