EDWIN AND ANGELINA.
A BALLAD.
BY MR. GOLDSMITH.
Printed for the Amuſement of the COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND.
[]DEIGN, ſaint-like tenant of the dale,
To guide my nightly way
To yonder fire, that chears the vale
With hoſpitable ray.
For here, deſerted, as I tread
With fainting ſteps and ſlow,
The wild, immeaſurably ſpread,
Seems lengthening as I go.
Forbear, my ſon, the ſage replies,
To tempt the lonely gloom,
For yonder faithleſs phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
[2]
Here to the houſeleſs child of want
My door is open ſtill,
And tho' my portion is but ſcant,
I give it with good will.
Then turn to-night, and freely ſhare
Whate'er my cell beſtows,
My ruſhy couch and frugal fare,
My bleſſing and repoſe.
No flocks, that range the valley free,
To ſlaughter I condemn;
Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.
But from the mountain's graſſy ſide
A guiltleſs feaſt I bring,
A ſcrip with herbs and fruits ſupply'd,
And water from the ſpring.
Then turn to-night, thy cares forego,
All earth-born cares are wrong;
"Man wants but little here below,
"Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heav'n deſcends,
His gentle accents fell,
The modeſt ſtranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
[3]
Far in a wilderneſs obſcure
The lonely manſion lay,
A refuge to th' unſhelter'd poor
And ſtrangers led aſtray.
No ſtores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a maſter's care,
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmleſs pair.
And now, when buſy crowds retire
To take their evening reſt,
The hermit trim'd his little fire,
And chear'd his penſive gueſt;
And ſpread his vegetable ſtore,
And gaily preſt and ſmil'd,
And, ſkill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.
While round, in ſympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing mirthful could aſſuage
The penſive ſtranger's woe,
For grief had ſeiz'd his early age,
And tears would often flow.
[4]
His riſing cares the hermit ſpy'd,
With anſwering care oppreſt;
And whence, unhappy youth, he cry'd,
The ſorrows of thy breaſt?
From better habitations ſpurn'd,
Reluctant doſt thou rove,
Or grieve for friendſhip unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?
Say, what is friendſhip? but a name,
A charm that lulls to ſleep,
A ſhade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep.
And what is love? an empty 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.
Surpriz'd he ſees new beauties riſe
Expanding to the view,
Like colours o'er the morning ſkies,
As bright, as tranſient too.
[5]
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,
A thing forlorn, ſhe cried,
Whoſe feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reſide.
Forgive, and let thy pious care
An heart's diſtreſs allay,
That ſeeks repoſe, but finds deſpair
Companion of the way.
My father liv'd, of high degree
Remote beſide the Tyne,
And as he had but only me,
Whate'er he had was mine.
To win me from his tender arms
Unnumber'd ſuitors came,
Their chief pretence my flatter'd charms,
My wealth perhaps their aim.
Each hour the mercenary crowd
With glitt'ring proffers ſtrove;
Among the reſt young Edwin bow'd,
Who offer'd only love.
[6]
In humble ſimpleſt habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wiſdom and worth were all he had,
And theſe were all to me.
Whene'er he ſpoke amidſt the train,
How would my heart attend!
And ſtill delighted even to pain,
How ſigh for ſuch a friend!
And when a little reſt I ſought
In ſleep's refreſhing arms,
How have I mended what he taught,
And lent him fancied charms!
Yet ſtill (and woe betide the hour)
I ſpurn'd him from my ſide,
And ſtill with ill diſſembled power,
Repaid his love with pride.
'Till, quite dejected with my ſcorn,
He left me to deplore,
And ſought a ſolitude forlorn,
And ne'er was heard of more.
Then ſince he periſh'd by my fault,
This pilgrimage I pay,
I'll ſeek the ſolitude he ſought,
And ſtretch me where he lay.
[7]
And there in ſhelt'ring thickets hid,
I'll linger till I die;
'Twas thus for me my lover did,
And ſo for him will I.
Thou ſhalt not thus, the hermit cried,
And claſp'd her to his breaſt.
Th' aſtoniſh'd fair-one turn'd to chide,
'Twas EDWIN's ſelf that preſt.
For now no longer could he hide
What firſt to hide he ſtrove,
His looks reſume their youthful pride,
And fluſh with honeſt love.
Turn, ANGELINA, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to ſee
Thy own, thy long-loſt EDWIN here,
Reſtor'd to love and thee.
Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care reſign,
And ſhall we never, never part,
My life, my all that's mine.
No, never from this hour to part,
Our love ſhall ſtill be new,
And the laſt ſigh that rends thy heart
Shall break thy EDWIN's too.
[8]
Here amidſt ſylvan bow'rs we'll rove,
From lawn to woodland ſtray,
Bleſt as the ſongſters of the grove,
And innocent as they.
To all that want, and all that wail,
Our pity ſhall be given,
And when this life of love ſhall fail,
We'll love it again in heaven.
THE END.