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THE TRIUMPHS


Tho' on my brow no coronet may shine,
Wealth I can offer at thy beauty's shrine,
And, worthier thee, a heart that worships thine."
Thus, with new-kindled love's aspiring flame,
Spoke the fond youth conceal'd by Edwin's name,
The gallant Falkland, rich in native worth,
By fortune blest, and not of abject birth.
Warmly he spoke, with that indignant heat
With which the generous heart ne'er fails to beat,
When worth insulted wakens virtuous ire.
And injur'd beauty sets the soul on fire.
Quick to his voice the startled virgin turn'd,
With wonder, hope, and joy, her bosom burn'd;
With sweet confusion, flurried and amaz'd,
On his attractive form she wildly gaz'd.
Full on her thought the friendly visions rush'd;
Blushing she view'd him, view'd him still and blush'd;
And, soft affection quickening at the sight,
Perchance had swoon'd with fulness of delight,