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• To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came,
And felt, or feign'd, a flame.
• Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
But never talk'd of love.
• In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
But these were all to me.
And when, beside me in the dale,
He carolld lays of love,
And music to the grove.
The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,
To emulate his mind.
• The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine;
Their constancy was mine.
* This stanza was preserved by Richard Archdale, Esq., a member of the Irish Parliament, to whom it was given by Goldsmith. and was first inserted after the author's death.
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 press’d!
Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Restored to love and thee.
* Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign:
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 HAUNCH OF VENISON.*
A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE.
THANKS, my lord, for your venison, for finor or fatter
But, my lord, it's no bounce: I protest, in my turn,
* The description of the dinner party, in this poem is imitated from Boileau's fourth Satire. Boileau himself took the hint from Horace, Lib. ïi. Sat. 8, which has also been imitated by Regnier, Sat. 10.
It's a truth, and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn.*
While thus I debated, in reverie centred,
enter'd; An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he, And he smiled as he looked at the venison and me, •What have you got here? — Why, this is good eating! Your own, I suppose - or is it in waiting?' • Why, whose should it be?' cried I, with a flounce, • I get these things often' — but that was a bounce : • Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the nation, Are pleased to be kind but I hate ostentation.'
* Lord Clare's nephew.