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To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd fuitors came,

Their chief pretence my flatter'd charms, My wealth perhaps their aim.

Each hour the mercenary crowd

With glitt'ring proffers ftrove; Among the reft young Edwin bow'd, Who offer'd only love.

In humble fimpleft habit clad,

No wealth nor power had he;

Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

Whene'er he spoke amidst the train,
How would my heart attend!

And still delighted e'en to pain,
How figh for fuch a friend!

And when a little reft I fought
In fleep's refreshing arms,
How have I mended what he taught
And lent him fancied charms!

Yet ftill and hapless be the hour,
I fpurn'd him from my fide,
And ftill with ill diffembled power,
Repaid his love with pride.

Till, quite dejeated with my fcorn,

He left me to deplore,

And fought a folitude forlorn,

And ne'er was heard of more.

Then fince he perish'd by my fault,
This pilgrimage I pay,

I'll feek the folitude he fought,
And ftretch me where he lay.

And there in fhelt'ring thicket hid,
I'll linger till I die;.

'Twas thus for me my lover did,

And fo for him will I.

Thou shalt not thus, the hermit cried,
And clafp'd her to his breaft:

Th' aftonifh'd fair-one turn'd to chide;
'Twas Edwin's self that preft.

For now no longer could he hide
What first to hide he trove;

His looks resume their youthful pride,
And flush with honeft love.

Turn, Angelina, ever dear,

My charmer, turn to fee

Thy own, thy long-loft Edwin here,

Reflor'd to love and thee.




Thus let me hold thee to my heart,

And every care refign,

And shall we never, never part,

My thou, my all that's mine.

No, never from this hour to part,

Our love fhall ftill be new,

And the laft figh that rends thy heart

Shall break thy Edwin's too.

Here amidft ftreams and bow'rs we'll rove,
From lawn to woodland ftray,
Bleft as the fongsters of the grove,
And innocent as they.

To all that want, and all that wail,

Our pity fhall be given,

And when this life of love fhall fail,

We'll love it o'er in heav'n.


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FABLE S. By Mr. Moore.


HE prudent nymph, whofe cheeks difclofe
The lilly, and the blushing rofe,

From public view her charms will screen,
And rarely in the crowd be seen;

This fimple truth fhall keep her wife,
"The fairest fruits attract the flies."

One night a glow-worm, proud and vain,
Contemplating her glitt'ring train,
Cry'd, fure there never was in nature

So elegant, fo fine a creature.

- All other infects, that I fee,

The frugal ant, industrious bee,
Or fitk-worm, with contempt I view ;
With all that low, mechanic crew,
Who fervilely their lives employ
In business, enemy to joy.

Mean, vulgar herd! ye are my fcorn,
For grandeur only I was born,
Or fure am fprung from race divinė,
And plac'd on earth, to live and fhine.
Thofe lights, that fparkle fo on high,
Are but the glow-worms of the sky,

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And kings on earth their gems admire,

Because they imitate my fire.

She spoke. Attentive on a spray,
A Nightingale forbore his lay;
He faw the fhining morfel near,
And flew, directed by the glare;
A while he gaz'd with fober look,
And thus the trembling prey bespoke :
Deluded fool, with pride elate,

Know, 'tis thy beauty brings thy fate:
Lefs dazzling, long thou might'ft have lain
Unheeded on the velvet plain :

Pride, foon or late, degraded mourns,
And beauty wrecks whom she adorns.



Ixteen, dy'e fay ? nay then 'tis time,
Another year destroys your prime.

But flay-the fettlement! "That's made."
Why then's my fimple girl afraid?

Yet hold a moment, if you can,
And heedfully the fable scan.

The fhades were fled, the morning blufh'd,

The winds were in their caverns hush'd


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