"And love is still an emptier 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:

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view-
Like colours o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too!

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 wretch forlorn," she cried-
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where heaven and you reside;

"But let a maid thy pity share,

Whom love has taught to strayWho seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.

"My father liv'd beside the Tyne—

A wealthy lord was he;

And all his wealth was mark'd as mine: He had but only me.

"To win me from his tender arms

Unnumber'd suitors came;

Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt or feign'd a flame.

"Each hour, a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd-
But never talk'd of love.

"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth or pow'r had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.

"And when beside me in the dale
He caroll'd lays of love;
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,

And music to the grove.

"The blossom opening to the day,

The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display

To emulate his mind;

"The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine;

Their charms were his; but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine.

"For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain;

And while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain.

"Till, quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to my pride;

And sought a solitude forlorn

In secret, where he died.

"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.

"And there, forlorn, despairing, hid-
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,

And so for him will I."

"Forbid it, heaven!" the hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast:

The wondering fair one turn'd to chide— 'Twas Edwin's self that prest.

"Turn, Angelina, ever dear—
My charmer turn to see

Thy own, thy long lost Edwin here,
Restored 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, We'll live and love so true:

The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too."

THE

DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

A TALE.

SECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Bookworm led a college life;
A fellowship, at twenty-five,
Made him the happiest man alive;
He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke,
And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Such pleasures, unallay'd with care,
Could any accident impair?
Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six?
O had the archer ne'er come down
To ravage in a country town;
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop.
O had her eyes forgot to blaze!
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze.