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EDWIN AND EMM An
**Mark it, Cefario, it is true and plain.
The fpinfters and the knitters in the fun, "And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Do ufe to chant it. It is filly Sooth, "And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age."
SHAKESP. TWELFTH NIGHT.
FAR in the windings of a vale,
Faft by a fheltering wood,
The fafe retreat of health and peace,
There beauteous Emma Aourish'd fair,
Beneath a mother's eye;
Whofe only wifh on earth was now
To fee her bleft, and die.
The fofteft blush that Nature fpreads
Gave colour to her cheek:
"Such orient colour fmiles through heaven,
When vernal mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great-ones fcorn
This charmer of the plains;
That fun, who bids their diamond blaze,
To paint our lily deigns.
Long had the fill'd each youth with love,
And though by all a wonder own'd,
Yet knew not she was fair.
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,
And from whofe eye, ferenely mild,
A mutual flame was quickly caught:
That virtue keeps conceal'd.
What happy hours of home-felt blifs
Did love on both beftow!
But blifs too mighty long to laft,
His Sifter, who, like Envy form'd,
Like her in mifchief joy'd,
To work them harm, with wicked skill,
The Father too, a fordid man,
Long had he feen their fecret flame,
And feen it long unmov'd:
Then with a father's frown at last
Had fternly difapprov'd.
In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Deny'd her fight, he oft behind
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Oft too on Stanemore's wintery waste,
His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'erçaft:
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 weary'd heaven with fruitless vows,
And fruitlefs forrow fhed.
'Tis paft! he cry'd-but if your fouls
Let thefe dim eyes once more behold,
She came; his cold hand foftly touch'd,,
But oh his fifter's jealous care,
Forbade what Emma came to fay;:
66 My Edwin, live for me!”
Now homeward as the hopeless wept
The church-yard path along,
The blaft blew cold, the dark owl fcream'd
Her lover's funeral fong.
Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her ftartling fancy found
In every bush his hovering fhade,.
His groan in every found.
Alone, appall'd, thus had the pafs'd
The vifionary vale
When lo! the death-bell fmote her ear,
Sad founding in the gale!
Just then the reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door
He's gone! the cry'd; and I fhall fee
That angel-face no more!
I feel, I feel this breaking heart
Beat high ageinst my side
From her white arm down funk her head;
She fhivering figh'd, and died.
Extract of a Letter from the Curate of BowES, in. YORKSHIRE, on the Subject of the preceding
To Mr. COPPERTHWAITE at MARRICK.
As to the affair mentioned in yours, it happened long before my time. I have therefore been obliged to confult my clerk, and another person in the neighbourhood, for the truth of that melancholy event. The hiftory of it is as follows:
THE family-name of the young man was Wrightson; of the young maiden Railton. They were much of the fame age; that is, growing up to twenty. In their birth was no difparity: but in fortune, alas! fhe was his inferior. His father, a hard old man, who had by his toil acquired a handfome competency, expected and required that his fon fhould marry fuitably. Y 4