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'Tis paft! he cry'd-but if your fouls
Sweet mercy yet can move,

Let thefe dim eyes once more behold,
What they must ever love!


She came; his cold hand foftly touch'd
And bath'd with many a tear:
Faft-falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.


But oh his fifter's jealous care,

A cruel fifter fhe!

Forbade what Emma came to fay;

"My Edwin, live for me!"


Now homeward as the hopeless wept

The church-yard path along,

The blast 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 finote her ear,

Sad founding in the gale!

XXII. Juft


Just then the reach'd, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door

He's gone! the cry'd; and I shall fee

That angel-face no more!


I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high ageinft my fide

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 Poem.




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 history of it is as follows:


THE family-name of the young man was Wrightfon; 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! she was his inferior. His father, a hard old man, who had by his toil acquired a handfome competency, expected and required that his fon should marry fuitably. Y 4


But as "amor vincit omnia," his heart was unalterably fixed on the pretty young creature already named. Their courtship, which was all by stealth, unknown to the family, continued about a year. When it was found out, old Wrightfon, his wife, and particularly their crooked daughter Hannah, flouted at the maiden, and treated her with notable contempt. For they held it as a maxim, and a ruftic one it is, "that blood, was "nothing without groats."

The young lover fickened, and took to his bed about Shrove Tuesday, and died the Sunday fevennight after.

On the last day of his illness, he defired to fee his niftrefs. She was civilly received by the mother, who bid her welcome-when it was too late. But her daughter Hannah lay at his back; to cut them off from all opportunity of exchanging their thoughts.

At her return home, on hearing the bell toll out for his departure, the screamed aloud that her heart was burft, and expired fome moments after.

The then curate of Bowes* inferted it in his register, that they both died of love, and were buried in the fame grave, March 15, 1714. I am,


Yours, &c.

* Bowes is a small village in Yorkshire, where in former times the Earls of Richmond had a caftle. It tands on the edge of that vaft and mountainous tract, named by the neighbouring people, Stanemore; which is always expofed to wind and weather, defolate and folitary throughout. CAMD. BRIT.





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CROWN'D with honour, bleft with length of days,

Thou whom the wife revere, the worthy praife;
Just guardian of those laws thy voice explain'd,
And meriting all titles thou haft gain`d—
Though ftill the fairest from heaven's bounty flow;
For good and great no monarch can bestow:
Yet thus, of health, of fame, of friends poffeft,
No fortune, Hardwicke, is fincerely blest.
All human-kind are fons of forrow born :
The great muft fuffer, and the good must mourn.
For fay, can Wisdom's self, what late was thine,
Can fortitude, without a figh, refign?

Ah, no! when Love, when Reason, hand in hand,.
O'er the cold urn confenting Mourners stand,
The firmeft heart diffolves to foften here:

And Piety applauds the falling tear.

Those facred drops, by virtuous weakness shed,
Adorn the living, while they grace the dead:

From tender thought their fource unblam'd they draw, By Heaven approv'd, and true to Nature's law.


She now no change, nor you no fear can feel :
Death, to her fame, has fix'd th' eternal feal!




E midnight shades, o'er Nature spread !
Dumb filence of the dreary hour!

In honour of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour..
Yes, pour around,

On this pale ground,

Through all this deep surrounding gloom,,
The fober thought,

The tear untaught,,

Those meeteft mourners at a tomb..


Lo as the furplic'd train draw near
To this laft mansion of mankind,

The flow fad bell, the fable bier,
In holy mufings wrap the mind!
And while their beam,

With trembling stream,

Attending tapers faintly dart;

Each mouldering bone,

Each sculptor'd stone,

Strikes mute inftruction to the heart!

III. Now,

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