'But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray:
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
'My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was marked as mine;
He had but only me.
'To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumbered suitors came;
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feigned, a flame.
'Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love.
'In humblest, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor 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.