Soft as the dew from heaven descends, The modest stranger lowly bends, Far in a wilderness obscure A refuge to the neighbouring poor, No stores beneath its humble thatch And now, when busy crowds retire And spread his vegetable store, The lingering hours beguiled. Around, in sympathetic mirth, But nothing could a charm impart 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, Alas! the joys that fortune brings And those who prize the paltry things, 66 And what is friendship but a name, "And love is still an emptier sound, 66 To warm the turtle's nest. For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, Surprised he sees new beauties rise, The bashful look, the rising breast, And "Ah, forgive a stranger rude, "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, Who praised me for imputed charms, "Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove; Among the rest young Edwin bowed, "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, In secret where he died. But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And there forlorn, despairing, hid, "Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast: The wond'ring 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, "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, "No, never from this hour to part, The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too." |