For wealth or power, the desolating sword. To thousand nations deals her nectar'd cup In love and union; innocence of ill Their guardian genius: these, the powers that rule Man's happiest life; the soul serene and sound FAR in the windings of a vale, There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair, The softest blush that nature spreads Gave colour to her cheek; Such orient colour smiles through heaven, Nor let the pride of great-ones scorn That sun, who bids their diamonds blaze, Long had she fill'd each youth with love, And though by all a wonder own'd, Till Edwin came, the pride of swains, And from whose eye, serenely mild, A mutual flame was quickly caught: What happy hours of home-felt bliss His sister, who, like envy form'd, To work them harm, with wicked skill, The father too, a sordid man, Long had he seen their secret flame, In Edwin's gentle heart, a war Denied her sight, he oft behind Oft too on Stanmore's wintery waste, His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd, So fades the fresh rose in its prime, The parents now, with late remorse, And wearied heaven with fruitless vows, ""Tis past!" he cried-" but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move, Let these dim eyes once more behold, She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, Now homeward as she hopeless wept. The church-yard path along, The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song. Amid the falling gloom of night, Her startling fancy found Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd When lo! the death-bell smote her ear, Just then she reach'd, with trembling step, "He's gone!" she cried; " and I shall see That angel-face no more. "I feel, I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side❞— From her white arm down sunk her head; She shivering sigh'd, and died. WILLIAM AND MARGARET. "TWAS at the silent, solemn hour, Her face was like an April-morn, So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, The rose was budded in her cheek, But love had, like the canker-worm, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; "Awake!" she cried, " thy true-love calls, "This is the dumb and dreary hour, "Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 66 Why did you promise love to me, Why did you swear my eyes were bright, "How could you say my face was fair, How could you win my virgin-heart, 66 Yet leave that heart to break? Why did you say my lip was sweet, And why did I, young witless maid! "That face, alas! no more is fair, Those lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, "The hungry worm my sister is; This winding sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. "But, hark! the cock has warn'd me hence; A long and late adieu ! Come, see, false man, how low she lies, |