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In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of differing passions strove: His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.
The spreading hawthorn crept,
Where Emma walk'd and wept.
Beneath the moonlight shade, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,
The midnight mourner stray'd.
A deadly pale o'ercast;
Before the northern blast.
The parents now with late remorse,
Hung o'er his dying bed;
And fruitless sorrows shed.
'Tis past! he cry'd—but if your souls Sweet mercy
What they must ever love!
And bath'd with many a tear :
So murning dews appear.
A cruel sister she !
*" My Edwin, live for me!"
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
His groan in every sound.
The visionary vale-
Sad sounding in the gale!
Her aged inother's door-
That angel-face no more.
Beat high against my side-
She shivering sigh’d, and dy'd.
A WINTER'S DAY.
WRITTEN IN A STATE OF MELANCHOLX.
Now, gloomy soul! look out—now comes thy turn;
While the driven clouds, o'ercharg'd with floods of rain,
more, th' ungrateful verdure of the plain;
:--no pleasure disconcert my woes. In this moss-cover'd cavern, hopeless laid, On the cold cliff, I'll lean my aching head; And pleas'd with Winter's waste, unpitying, see All nature in an agony with me! Rough rugged rocks, wet marshes, ruin'd towers, Bare trees, brown brakes, bleak heaths, and rushy
moors, Dead floods, huge cataracts, to my pleas'd eyes (Now I can smile!)-in wild disorder rise: And now,
the various dreadfulness combin'd, Black melancholy comes, to doze my mind. See! Night's wish'd shades rise, spreading through
Stop, flying Timel repose thy restless wing; Fix here--nor hasten to restore the spring: Fix'd
ill fate, so fix'd let winter beLet never wanton season laugh at me!
WILLIAM AND MARGARET.
'Twas at the silent, solemn hour,
When night and morning meet;
And stood at William's feet.
Her face was like an April-morn,
Clad in a wintery cloud;
That held her sable shroud.
So shall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown : Such is the robe that kings must wear,
When death has reft the crown.
Her bloom was like the springing flower,
That sips the silver dew;
Just opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker-worm,
Consum'd her early prime;
She dy'd before her time.
Awake! she cry'd, thy true-love calls,
Come from her midnight grave;
Thy love refus'd to save.
This is the dumb and dreary hour,
When injur'd ghosts complain ; When yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swain.
Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath ! And give me
my maiden-vow, And give me back my
troth. Why did you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep? Why did you swear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?
And yet that face forsake?
Yet leave that heart to break ?
Why did you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale ?
Believe the flattering tale.
Those lips no longer red :
And every charm is filed.
This winding sheet I wear :
Till that last morn appear.
A long and late adieu !
Who dy'd for love of you,
rosy Pale William quak'd in every limb, And raving left his bed,