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But nothing could a charm impart,
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied,
With answering care opprest:
And "Whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?

"From better habitations spurned
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love?

"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.

"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 betrayed.

Surprised, 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 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.

"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,

Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.

"The dew, the blossom of 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 :
'Twas 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-
'Twas Edwin's self that prest !

"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,
My life, my all that's mine?

"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!"

POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO LAERTES.—
Shakspeare.

GIVE thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportioned thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in,
Bear it that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ;

And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,-To thine ownself be true;"
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

THE SUNSHINE.-Mary Howitt.

I LOVE the sunshine everywhere-
In wood, and field, and glen ;
I love it in the busy haunts
Of town-imprisoned men.

I love it, when it streameth in
The humble cottage door,

And casts the chequered casement shade
Upon the red-brick floor.

I love it, where the children lie
Deep in the clovery grass,
To watch among the twining roots,
The gold-green beetle pass.

I love it, on the breezy sea,
To glance on sail and oar,
While the great waves, like molten glass,
Come leaping to the shore.

I love it, on the mountain-tops,
Where lies the thawless snow;
And half a kingdom, bathed in light,
Lies stretching out below.

Oh yes, I love the sunshine!
Like kindness, or like mirth,
Upon a human countenance,
Is sunshine on the earth.

Upon the earth-upon the sea→→
And through the crystal air-
Or piled up clouds-the gracious sun
Is glorious everywhere.

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