EDWIN AND EMMA. David Mallet Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1122 K093079.001 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. I. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 104-108. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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EDWIN AND EMMA . BY THE SAME . FAR in the windings of a vale , Fast by a sh ltering wood , The safe retreat of Health and Peace , An humble cottage stood . There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair Beneath a mother's eye ; Whose only wish on earth was now To see her blest , and die . The softest blush that Nature spreads Gave colour to her cheek : Such orient colour smiles thro' heaven , When vernal mornings break . Nor let the pride of great ones scorn This charmer of the plains : That sun , who bids their diamond blaze , To paint our lilly deigns . Long had she fill'd each youth with love , Each maiden with despair ; And tho' by all a wonder own'd , Yet knew not she was fair . Till Edwin came , the pride of swains , A soul devoid of art ; And from whose eye , serenely mild , Shone forth the feeling heart . A mutual flame was quickly caught : Was quickly too reveal'd : For neither bosom lodg'd a wish That virtue keeps conceal'd . What happy hours of home-selt bliss Did love on both bestow ! But bliss too mighty long to last , Where fortune proves a foe . His sister , who , like Envy form'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 knew , Was all unfeeling as the clod From whence his riches grew . Long had he seen their secret flame , And seen 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 passions strove : His heart , that durst not disobey , Yet could not cease to love . Deny'd her sight , he oft behind The spreading hawthorn crept , To snatch a glance , to mark the spot Where Emma walk'd and wept . Oft too on Stanemore's wintry waste , Beneath the moon-light shade , In sighs to pour his soften'd soul , The midnight 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 parents now , with late remorse , Hung o'er his dying bed ; And weary'd heaven with fruitless vows , And fruitless sorrow shed . 'Tis past ! he cry'd — but if your souls Sweet mercy yet can move , Let these dim eyes once more behold What they must ever love ! She came ; his cold hand softly touch'd , And bath'd with many a tear : Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale , So morning dews appear . But oh ! his sister's jealous care , A cruel sister she ! Forbade what Emma came to say ; " My Edwin , live for me . " Now homeward as she hopeless wept The church-yard path along , The blast blew cold , the dark owl scream'd Her lover's funeral song . Amid the falling gloom of night , Her startling fancy found In every bush his hovering shade , His groan in every sound . Alone , appall'd , thus had she past The visionary vale — When lo ! the death-bell smote her ear , Sad sounding in the gale ! Just then she reach'd , with trembling step , Her aged mother's door : He's gone ! she cry'd ; and I shall see That angel-face no more ! I feel , I feel this breaking heart Beat high against my side — From her white arm down sunk her head , She shivering sigh'd , and died .