Imatges de pàgina
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Oh! have you feen a lilly pale,
When beating rains defcend?
So droop'd the flow confuming maid;
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering fwains,
Take heed ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows
Ye perjur'd fwains beware.

Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, fhrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew,
The folemn boding found;
And thus in dying words befpoke
The virgins weeping round,

"I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
"Which fays I must not ftay:
"I fee a hand, you cannot fee,
"Which beckons me away.

"By a falfe heart, and broken vows, "In early youth I die. "Am I to blame, because his bride "Is thrice as rich as I?

Ah Colin give her not thy vows; "Vows due to me alone;

"Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs, "Nor think him all thy own.

"To-morrow in the Church to wed, "Impatient, both prepare;

"But know, fond maid, and know, falfe man "That Lucy will be there..

"Then bear my corfe: ye comrades, bear,
"The bridegroom blithe to meet;
"He in his wedding trim fo

"I in my winding fheet."

gay,

She fpoke, fhe dy'd-her corfe was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet ;
He in his wedding trim fo gay,

She in her winding fheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts
How were thofe nuptials kept;
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Confufion, thame, remorse, defpair,
At once his bofom swell :

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He fhook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride, (ah bride no more)
The varying crimfon fled,

When, ftretch'd before her rival's corfe,
She faw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
One mould with her, beneath one fod,
For ever now remains.

Oft at their grave the conftant hind
And plighted maid are feen ;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the facred green.

But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd fpot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

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In a comedy of Fletcher, called The Knight of the burning Pefle, old Merry-Thought enters repeating the following verfes:

When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fatt asleep,

In came Margaret's grimly ghoft,
And stood at William's feet,

This was, probably, the beginning of fome ballad, commonly known, at the time when that author wrote; and is all of it, I believe, that is any where to be met with. Thefe lines, naked of ornament and fimple as they are, ftruck my fancy: and, bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure, much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem; which was written many

years ago.

'TWAS

I.

WAS at the filent, folemn hour,
When night and morning meet;

In glided MARGARET's grimly ghost,
And flood at WILLIAM's feet.

II.

Her face was like an April morn,
Clad in a wintry cloud :

And clay-cold was her lilly-hand,
That held her fable fhroud.

III.

So fhall the fairest face appear,

When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown.

IV.

Her bloom was like a fpringing flower,
That fips the filver dew;

The rofe was budded in her cheek,
Juft opening to the view.

V.

But Love, had like the canker-worm,

Confum'd her early prime :

The rofe grew pale, and left her check; She dy'd before her time.

VI.

Awake! fhe cry'd, thy true Love calls,

Come from her midnight grave;

Now let thy Pity hear the maid,
Thy Love refus'd to fave.

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