"Alas! the joys that fortune brings

Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the trifling thing3
More trifling still than they.

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"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?

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"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.

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,
And wretch forlorn," she cried;
"Whose feet unhallow'd 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.

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"The dew, the blossom on 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,

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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;

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"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;

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'T was so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I."

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"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried,

And clasp'd her to his breast:

'T was Edwin's self that prest.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to see

The wondering fair-one turn'd to chide,—

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Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,

Restored to love and thee.

"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care resign:

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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."

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GOLDSMITH.

EDWIN AND EMMA.

FAR in the windings of a vale,
Fast by a sheltering wood,

The safe retreat of Health and Peace,
A humble cottage stood.

There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair,
Beneath a mother's eye;

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Whose only wish on earth was now
To see her blest, and die.

The softest blush that nature spreads
Gave colour to her cheek;

Such orient colour smiles through heaven,
When vernal mornings break.

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art,

And from whose eyes, serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught;
Was quickly too reveal'd:

For neither bosom lodged a wish
That virtue keeps conceal'd.

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What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow!

But bliss too mighty long to last,
Where fortune proves a foe.

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Long had he seen their secret flame,
And seen it long unmoved:

To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.

Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade,

In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,

The midnight mourner stray'd.

His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercast:

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