WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

[By Mallet.]

WHEN all was wrapt in dark midnight
And all were fast asleep,

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost
And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April morn
Clad in a wintry cloud,
And clay-cold was her lily hand
That held her sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown;
Such is the robe that kings must wear
When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower
That sips the silver dew;

The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.

But love had, like the canker worm,
Consum'd her early prime;

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek,
She died before her time.

Awake, she cried, thy true love-calls

Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refused to save.

This is the mirk and fearful hour
When injur'd ghosts complain;
Now dreary graves give up their dead
To haunt the faithless swain.

Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge, and broken oath;
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.

How could you say my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break?

How could you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep?

Why did you'swear mine eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?

How could you say my lips were sweet,

And made the scarlet pale ?

And why did I, young witless maid,

`Believe the flatt'ring tale?

That face, alas! no more is fair,
Those lips no longer red;

Dark are mine eyes now clos'd in death,
And ev'ry charm is fled.

The hungry worm my sister is,
This winding sheet I wear,
And cold and weary lasts our night
Till that last morn appear.

But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence, A long and last adieu !

Come see, false man, how low she lies

That died for love of you.

Now birds did sing, and morning smile

;

And shew her glist'ring head Pale William shook in every limb, And raving left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place
Where Margret's body lay,

And stretch'd him on the green grass turf
That wrapp'd her breathless clay.

And thrice he call'd on Marg❜ret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore;

Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,

And word spake never more.

"Tw

[By Gay.*]

WAS when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind,

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclin'd:

Wide o'er the foaming billows

She cast a wishful look,

Her head was crown'd with willows That trembled o'er the brook.

Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, vent'rous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean
And let a lover rest;

Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?

The merchant robb'd of treasure
Views tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To the losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on
Where gold and diamonds grow,

You'll find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

* In the What D'ye call it.

How can they say that Nature
Has nothing made in vain ;
Why then beneath the water
Do hideous rocks remain ?
No eyes those rocks discover,
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wand'ring lover
And leave the maid to weep.

All melancholy lying

Thus wail'd she for her dear, Repaid each blast with sighing, Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white waves stooping, His floating corps she 'spied;

Then like a lily drooping

She bow'd her head and died.