 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
57
EDWIN, AND EMMA.
Mark it, Cesario, it is true and plain.
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chant it. It is silly Sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Shakes. Twelfth Night.
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones,
Do use to chant it. It is silly Sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Shakes. Twelfth Night.
59
I
Far in the windings of a vale,Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of health and peace,
An humble cottage stood.
II
There beauteous Emma florish'd fair,Beneath a mother's eye;
Whose only wish on earth was now
To see her blest, and die.
60
III
The softest blush that Nature spreadsGave color to her cheek:
Such orient color smiles thro heaven,
When vernal mornings break.
IV
Nor let the pride of great ones scornThis charmer of the plains:
That sun, who bids their diamond blaze,
To paint our lilly deigns.
V
Long had she fill'd each youth with love,Each maiden with despair;
And tho by all a wonder own'd,
Yet knew not she was fair.
VI
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,A soul devoid of art;
And from whose eye, serenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.
61
VII
A mutual flame was quickly caught:Was quickly too reveal'd:
For neither bosom lodg'd a wish,
That virtue keeps conceal'd.
VIII
What happy hours of home-felt blissDid love on both bestow!
But bliss too mighty long to last,
Where fortune proves a foe.
IX
His Sister, who, like Envy form'd,Like her in mischief joy'd,
To work them harm, with wicked skill,
Each darker art employ'd.
X
The Father too, a sordid man,Who love nor pity knew,
Was all-unfeeling as the clod,
From whence his riches grew.
62
XI
Long had he seen their secret flame,And seen it long unmov'd:
Then with a father's frown at last
Had sternly disapprov'd.
XII
In Edwin's gentle heart, a warOf differing passions strove:
His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.
XIII
Deny'd her sight, he oft behindThe spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.
XIV
Oft too on Stanemore's wintry waste,Beneath the the moonlight-shade,
In sighs to pour his soften'd soul,
The midnight-mourner stray'd.
63
XV
His cheek, where health with beauty glow'd,A deadly pale o'ercast:
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,
Before the northern blast.
XVI
The parents now, with late remorse,Hung o'er his dying bed;
And weary'd heaven with fruitless vows,
And fruitless sorrow shed.
XVII
'Tis past! he cry'd—but if your soulsSweet mercy yet can move,
Let these dim eyes once more behold,
What they must ever love!
XVIII
She came; his cold hand softly touch'd,And bath'd with many a tear:
Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.
64
XIX
But oh! his sister's jealous care,A cruel sister she!
Forbade what Emma came to say;
“My Edwin live for me.”
XX
Now homeward as she hopeless weptThe church-yard path along,
The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lover's funeral song.
XXI
Amid the falling gloom of night,Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,
His groan in every sound.
XXII
Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'dThe visionary vale—
When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,
Sad-sounding in the gale!
65
XXIII
Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,Her aged mother's door—
He's gone! she cry'd; and I shall see
That angel-face no more!
XXIV
I feel, I feel this breaking heartBeat high against my side—
From her white arm down sunk her head;
She shivering sigh'd, and died.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |