“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
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor’d 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.”
