"And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep;

A shade that follows wealth or fame,

And leaves the wretch to weep?

"And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair-one's jest:

On earth unseen, or only found

To warm the turtle's nest.

"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex," he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.

Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;

Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast,

Alternate spread alarms:

The lovely stranger stands confest

A maid in all her charms.

"And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn," she cry'd;

"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where heav'n 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 liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd suitors came,

Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd a flame.

"Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove;

Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

A

"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth or pow'r had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

"The blossom op'ning to the day,
The dews of heav'n refin'd,
Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine;

Their charms were his, but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine.

"For still I try'd each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain.

"Till quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn

In secret where he dy'd.

"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;

'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I."

"Forbid it, heaven!" the hermit cry'd, And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's self that prest.

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

Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restor❜d to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And ev'ry care resign:

And shall we never, never part,

My life-my all that's mine?