"Each hour a mercenary crowd "With richest proffers strove: "Among the rest young Edwin bow'd, "But never talk'd of love. "In humble fimpleft habit clad, "Wisdom and worth were all he had, "The bloffom opening to the day "The dews of heaven refin'd, "Could nought of purity difplay, "To emulate his mind. "The dew, the bloffom on the tree, "With charms inconstant shine; "Their charms were his, but woe to me, "Their conftancy was mine. "For ftill I try'd each fickle art, "Importunate and vain; "And while his paffion touch'd my heart, "I triumph'd in his pain. "Till quite dejected with my scorn, "He left me to my pride; "And fought a folitude forlorn, "In fecret, where he died. "But mine the forrow, mine the fault, "And ftretch me where he lay. "And there forlorn, despairing, hid, "Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cry'd, And clafp'd her to his breast: The wondering fair one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's felf that preft. "Turn, Angelina, ever dear, "My charmer, turn to see, "Thy own, thy long loft Edwin here, "Reftor'd to love and thee. "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, "And ev'ry care resign: "And fhall we never, never part, "My life,---my all that's mine. "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." HYMN TO HUMANITY. BY DR. LANGHORNE. 1. PARENT of virtue, if thine ear Attend not now to forrow's cry; If now the pity-streaming tear Should haply on thy cheek be dry; Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity! II. Come, ever welcome to my breast! A tender but a cheerful guest; Nor always in the gloomy cell Is to Humanity a foe; And grief, that makes the heart its prey, Wears fenfibility away. Then comes, fweet Nymph, instead of thee, The gloomy fiend Stupidity. III. O may that fiend be banish'd far, The pulfe that throbs at joy or woe; Nor let my vacant cheek be dry, IV. If the fair ftar of fortune smile, V. If Heaven, in every purpose wise, VI. Howe'er exalted, or depreft Be ever mine the feeling breast. From me remove the stagnant mind The foul that one long fabbath keeps, Alike the foolish and the vain Are strangers to the fenfe humane. VII. O for that fympathetic glow Which taught the holy tear to flow, Or, rais'd to heaven, implor'd the bread. Or, when the heart o'er friendship's grave Sigh'd and forgot its power to fave, Which taught the holy tear to flow! VIII. It comes: it fills my labouring breast; I feel my beating heart oppreft. Oh! hear that lonely widow's wail! See her dim eye! her afpect pale! B |