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“ And when, beside me in the dale,
He carollid lays of love,
And music to the grove.
“ The blossom op'ning to the day,
The dews of Heav'n refined, Could naught of purity display
To emulate his mind.
“ The dew, the blossoms of the tree,
With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his; but, wo to me,
Their constancy was mine! “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; 'Twas 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
'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.
“ Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Restored to love and thee,
And ev'ry care resign :
My life-my all that's mine?
We'll live and love so true,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain, Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, And parting Summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd : Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please : How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I paused on ev'ry charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighb'ring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whisp’ring lovers made ! How often have I bless'd the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree : While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd; And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired,
Il fares the land, to hast’ning ills a prey,
A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
Oh, bless'd retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How bless'd is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the nine, or tempt the dang’rous deep; Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightning to the last, His heav'n commences ere the world be past.
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at ev’ning's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came soften'd from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their younge; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just
. let loose from school; The watchdog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring