)7( 

 His sister , who , like Envy jorm'd, 

 Like her in mischief joy'd , 

 To work them harm , with wicked skill , 

 Each darker art employ'd. 



The father too , a sordid man , 

 Who love nor pity knevf , 

 Was all-unfeeling as the clod 

 From -whence his riches grew. 



Long had he seen their secret flame , 

 And saw it long unmov'd: 

 Then -with a father's frown at last 

 Had sternly disapprov'd. 



In Edwin's gentle heart, a war 

 Of differing passìons strove : 

 His heart, that durst not disobey , 

 Yet could'not cease to love. 



Deny'd her sight, he oft hehind 

 The spreading hawthorn crept, 

 To snatch a glance, to mark the spot 

 Where Emma walk'd and ■wept. 



Oft too on Stanmore's wintry waste , 

 Beneath the moon light shade , 

 In sighs to pour his softend soul , 

 The mìdnight mourner stray'd. 



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. 



The parenti now y with late remorse } 

 Hung o'er his dying bed ; 

 And weary^d Heaven with fruitless vows , 

 And fruitless sorrow shed. 



Tis pasti he cryd 3 but if your soùls 

 Sweet mercy yet can move , 

 Let these dim eyes once more behold , 

 JVhat they must ever love! 



