ས.

Long had she fill'd each youth with love,
Each maiden with despair;

And though by all a wonder own'd,
Yet knew not fhe was fair.

VI.

Till Edwin came, the pride of fwains,
A foul devoid of art;

And from whose eye, ferenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

VII.

A mutual flame was quickly caught a
Was quickly too reveal'd:
For neither bofom lodg'd a wifh,

That virtue keeps conceal'd.

VIII.

What happy hours of home-felt blifs

Did love on both bestow!

But blifs too mighty long to laft,
Where fortune proves a foe.

IX.

His Sifter, who, like Envy form'd,

Like her in mifchief joy'd,

To work them harm, with wicked skill,
Each darker art employ'd.

X.

The Father too, a fordid man, Who love nor pity knew, Was all-unfeeling as the clod, From whence his riches grew.

XI. Long

XI.

Long had he feen their fecret flame,^♪

And feen it long unmov'd:

Then with a father's frown at last

Had fternly disapprov'd.

XII.

In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of differing paffions strove:
His heart, that durft not disobey,
Yet could not ceafe to love.

XIII.

Deny'd her fight, he oft behind
The fpreading hawthorn crept,
To fnatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.

XIV.

Oft too on Stanemore's wintery waste,
Beneath the moonlight-fhade,
In fighs to pour his foften'd foul,
The midnight-mourner ftray'd..

XV.

His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,,

A deadly pale o'ercaft:

So fades the fresh rose in its prime,.

Before the northern blaft..

XVI..

The parents now, with late remorse,

Hung o'er his dying bed;

And weary'd heaven with fruitless vow
And fruitlefs forrow shed.

XVII.

'Tis paft! he ery'd—but if your Sweet mercy yet can move,

fouls

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

XVII.

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.

XIX.

But oh his fifter's jealous care,
A cruel fifter fhe!

Forbade what Emma came to fay;

"My Edwin, live for me!"

XX.

Now homeward as the hopeless wept

The church-yard path along,

The blast blew cold, the dark owl feream'd
Her lover's funeral fong.

XXI.

Amid the falling gloom of night,

Her ftartling fancy found

In every bush his hovering fhade,

His groan in every found.

XXII.

Alone, appall'd, thus had the pass'd

The vifionary vale

When lo! the death-bell finote her ear,

Sad founding in the gale!

XXII. Juft

XXIII.

Juft then the reach'd, with trembling step,

Her aged mother's door

He's gone! fhe cry'd; and I fhall fee

That angel-face no more!

XXIV.

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.

To Mr. COPPERTHWAITE at MARRICK.

WORTHY SIR,

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:

both

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! fhe was his inferior. His father, a hard old man, who had by his toil acquired a handsome competency, expected and required that his fon fhould marry fuitably.

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 Wrightson, 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 rustic one it is, "that blood, was nothing without groats."

66

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

On the last day of his ilinefs, he defired to fee his miftrefs. 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 fcreamed aloud that her heart was burft, and expired fome moments after.

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

DEAR SIR,

Yours, &c.

* Bowes is a small village in Yorkshire, where in former times the Earls of Richmond had a caftle. It itands 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.