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 heaven, When vernal mornings break. Nor let the pride of great ones scorn This charmer of the plains; That sun who bids their diamond 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, A mutual flame was quickly caught; For neither bosom lodged a wish, That virtue keeps conceal'd. What happy hours of home-felt bliss But bliss too mighty long to last, His sister, who, like Envy form'd, To work them harm, with wicked skill The father too, a sordid man, Was all unfeeling as the clod Long had he seen their secret flame, In Edwin's gentle heart, a war Denied her sight, he oft behind Oft too on Stanmore's wintry waste, In sighs to pour his soften'd soul, 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. The parents now, with late remorse, Hung o'er his dying bed; And wearied Heaven, with fruitless vows, 66 And fruitless sorrow shed. "Tis past!" he cried-" but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, Let these dim eyes once more behold She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, 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 hovering shade, Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd The visionary vale When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Sad-sounding in the gale! 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 shivering sigh'd, and died. AN ENQUIRY AFTER HAPPINESS. BY MRS. CARTER. THE midnight moon serenely smiles No lowering cloud obscures the sky, Now every passion sinks to rest, In silence hush'd, to Reason's voice Come, while the peaceful scene invites, Does it amidst the frolic mirth Of gay assemblies dwell? Or hide beneath the solemn gloom |