budded in a sim ng to the ver like the cander-a her early pe v pale, and eli uss Cutte efore her time he cried, "ty true love co her midnig grave pity hear the mar efused to save. ark and dreary non red ghosts comų – ng graves give 2 the faithless sw.. William, o:: e and brone back my me back. promise bat pro 1 swear. those ey you 82 hat in. CLM tha འབ༥ And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. But hark! the cock has warned me hence; A long and last adieu! Come false see, man, how low she lies, Who died for love of you." The lark sung loud; the morning smiled Pale William quaked in every limb, And raving left his bed. He hied him to the fatal place, And stretched him on the green grass turf, And thrice he called on Margaret's name, 2. EDWIN AND EMMA. Far in the windings of a vale, There beauteous Emma flourished fair, Whose only wish on earth was now The softest blush that nature spreads Such orient colour smiles through heaven, When vernal mornings break. Nor let the pride of great ones scorn That sun who bids their diamonds blaze, Long had she fill'd each youth with love, 1 And though by all a wonder owned, Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, And from whose eyes serenely mild, A mutual flame was quickly caught; The father too, a sordid man, From which his riches grew. 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 softened soul, The midnight mourner strayed. His cheek, where health with beauty glowed, 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, ""Tis past!" he cried, "but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, She came; his cold hand softly touched, 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 blast blew cold, the dark owl screamed Amid the falling gloom of night, Her startling fancy found In every bush his hovering shade, His groan in every sound. Alone, appalled, thus had she passed The visionary vale, When, lo! the death-bell smote her ear Sad sounding in the gale! Just then she reached with trembling step Her aged mother's door "He's gone!" she cried; "and I shall see "I feel, I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side-" From her white arm down sunk her head; CXLVIII. THOMAS MOSS. THE BEGGAR'S PETITION. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, your store. Has been the channel of a flood of tears. Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! Should I reveal the source of ev'ry grief, If soft humanity e'er touched your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears in pity could not be represt. Heaven sends misfortunes: why should we repine? 'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see, And your condition may be soon like mine, The child of sorrow and of misery. A little farm was my paternal lot; Then like the lark, I sprightly hailed the morn: |