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

"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 touched my heart, I triumphed 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!
'T was so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."

"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast:

The wondering fair one turned to chide"T was Edwin's self that pressed!

"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 FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.

BY DR. PERCY.

"IT is old and plain;

The spinners 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 (simple trnth),

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age."-SHAKSPEARE.

Ir was a Friar of Orders Gray,
Walked forth to tell his beads;

And he met with a Lady fair,

Clad in a pilgrim's weeds.

"Now, Christ thee save, thou reverend friar!

pray thee tell to me,

If ever at yon holy shrine

My true love thou didst see?"

"And how should I know your true love,*

From many another one?"

"O, by his cockle † hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoon."

* Hamlet, act iv., sc. v.

†The cockle-shell was worn by pilgrims, as an indication of their having passed the sea in their pilgrimage, or intending to pass it.

"But chiefly, by his face and mien,

That were so fair to view;

His flaxen locks, that sweetly curled,
And eyes of lovely blue."

"O, he is dead and gone, Lady!
Lady, he 's dead and gone!
And at his head a green-grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloisters long
He languished, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady's love,

And plaining of her pride.

"Here bore him barefaced on his bier + Six proper youths and tall,

And many a tear bedewed his grave,
Within yon Kirk-yard wall."

"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!
And didst thou die for love of me! -
Break, cruel heart of stone!"

“O, weep not, lady, weep not so!
Some ghostly comfort seek;
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek."

"O do not, do not, holy friar,

My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er won lady's love.

"And now, alas! for thy sad loss,
I'll evermore weep and sigh;

For thee I only wish'd to live,

For thee I wish to die."

"Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain ;

For, violets plucked, the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again."

"Our joys as winged dreams do fly -
Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy loss,

Grieve not for what is past.'

"O! say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee, say not so;

For since my true-love died for me,
'T is meet my tears should flow.

"And will he ne'er more come again!*
Will he never come again?-

Ah! no, he 's dead, and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.

"His cheek was redder than the rose,
The comeliest youth was he;

But he is dead, and laid in his grave,―
Alas! and woe is me!"

66

'Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever;

One foot on sea and one on land,

To one thing constant never. †

"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."‡

* Hamlet, act 4, sc. 5. + Much Ado about Nothing, act 2, sc. 3.

I Ibid.