And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cried -
"Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside.

“But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray-
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.

"My father lived beside the Tyne —
A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was marked as mine; He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms

Unnumbered suitors came;

Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt or feigned a flame.

“Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Among the rest young Edwin bowed
But never talked of love.

"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had
But these were all to me.

"And when beside me in the dale
He carolled lays of love,

His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.

"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,
Could naught of purity display
To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their charms were his; but, woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touched my heart, I triumphed 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;
'T was so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I."

"Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast:

The wondering fair one turned to chide"T was Edwin's self that pressed.

"Turn, Angelina! ever dear-
My charmer, turn to see

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin, here,
Restored to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign;

And shall we never, never part,

"No, never from this hour to part,

We'll live and love so true;

The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too."

AN ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG.

GOOD people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short-
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,

Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad-
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But, when a pique began,

The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighboring streets
The wondering neighbors ran;
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.

STANZAS

ON WOMAN.

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray What charm can soothe her melancholy? What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom

is to die.

EPITAPH

ON EDWARD PURDON.

HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,
Who long was a bookseller's hack;

He led such a damnable life in this world
I don't think he'll wish to come back.

VERSES

IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO DINNER.

"This is a poem! This is a copy of verses !"

YOUR mandate I got

You may all go to pot;

Had your senses been right,

You'd have sent before night.
As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved

For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,
Or to put on my duds;
So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffman beside,
And the Jessamy bride,