"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, "Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cry'd, 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, "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And shall we never, never part, No, never from this hour to part, The sigh that rends thy constant heart, THE THREE WARNINGS. A TALE. BY MRS. PIOZZI, THE tree of deepest root is found That love of life increas'd with years This great affection to believe, When sports went round, and all were gay, And looking grave, "You must," says he, "Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." "With you! and quit my Susan's side! With you!" the hapless husband cry'd: "Young as I am! 'tis monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd: My thoughts on other matters go, This is my wedding night, you know." What more he urg'd I have not heard, His reasons could not well be stronger; So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, And left to live a little longer. Yet calling up a serious look, His hour-glass trembled while he spoke, Well pleas'd the world will leave." What next the hero of our tale befel, How long he liv'd, how wise, how well, How roundly he pursu'd his course, And smok'd his pipe, and strok'd his horse, The willing Muse shall tell: He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold, Nor once perceiv'd his growing old, Nor thought of Death as near; His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few, He pass'd his hours in peace: But while he view'd his wealth increase, Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood, As all alone he sate, Th' unwelcome messenger of Fate Once more before him stood. Half kill'd with anger and surprise, "So soon return'd!" old Dobson cries. "So soon, d'ye call it!" Death replies: 'Surely, my friend, you're but in jest; Since I was here before, 'Tis six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now fourscore." So much the worse the clown rejoin'd: To spare the aged would be kind: However, see your search be legal; Besides you promis'd me Three Warnings, Which I have look'd for nights and mornings: But for that loss of time and ease, I can recover damages.” "I know," cries Death, "that at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest: " "This is a shocking story 'faith; Yet there's some comfort still," says Death: 16 Each strives your sadness to amuse, I warrant you hear all the news.” There's none," cries he; "and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." "Nay then," the spectre stern rejoin'd, "These are unjustifiable yearnings; If you are Lame, and Deaf, and Blind, You've had your Three sufficient Warnings. |