WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

I.

TWAS at the filent, folemn hour,

When night and morning meet;

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

II.

Her face was like an April-morn,
Clad in a wintery cloud;

And clay-cold was her lily-hand,

That held her fable shroud.

III.

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.

IV.

Her bloom was like the springing flower,

That fips the filver dew;

The rose was budded in her cheek,

Just opening to the view.

V.

But Love had, like the canker-worm,

Confum'd her early prime :

The rofe grew pale, and left her cheek;

She dy'd before her time.

VI. Awake!

VI.

Awake! she cry'd, thy true love calls,

When injur'd ghofts complain;
When yawning graves give up their dead,

To haunt the faithless swain.

VIII.

Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,

Thy pledge and broken oath;

And give me back my maiden-vow,

And give me back my troth.

IX.

Why did you promise love to me,

And not that promise keep?

Why did you swear my eyes were bright,

Yet leave those eyes to weep?

X.

How could you fay my face was fair,

And yet that face forsake ?

How could you win my virgin-heart,

Yet leave that heart to break ?

XI.

Why did you say, my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale ?

And why did I, young witless maid I
Believe the flattering tale?

XII. That

XII

That face, alas! no more is air

Those lips no longer red:

Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,

And every charm is fled.

XIII.

The hungry worm my sister is;

This winding-sheet I wear:

And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last morn appear.

XIV.

But, hark! the cock has warn'd me hence,

A long and late adieu!

Come, fee, false man, how low the lies,

Who dy'd for love of you.

XV.

The lark fung loud; the morning smil'd,

With beams of rofy red:

Pale William quak'd in every limb,

And raving left his bed.

XVI.

He hy'd him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretch'd him on the green-grafs turf,

That wrap'd her breathless clay.

XVII. And XVII.

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,
And thrice he wept full fore:

Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spoke never more!

N. B. In a comedy of Fletcher, called "The "Knight of the burning Pestle," old Merry-Thought enters repeating the following verses:

When it was grown to dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margaret's grimly ghost,
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. These lines, naked of ornament, and fimple as they are, struck my fancy: and, bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure, much talked of formerly, gave birth to the foregoing poen; which was written many ago. MALLET.

An'elegant Latin imitation of this ballad is printed EPITAPH, on Mr. AIKMAN, and his only SON: who were both interred in the same grave.

D

EAR to the wife and good, disprais'd by none,
Here sleep in peace the father and the son.

By virtue, as by nature, close ally'd,
The painter's genius, but without the pride;
Worth unambitious, wit afraid to shine,
Honour's clear light, and Friendship's warmth divine..
The fon, fair-rifing, knew too short a date;
But oh, how more fevere the parent's fate !
He saw him torn, untimely, from his side,
Felt all a father's anguish, wept, and dy'd!

- ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ ON A YOUNG LADY.

T HIS humble grave though no proud structures grace,
Yet Truth and Goodness sanctify the place:
Yet blameless Virtue, that adorn'd thy bloom,
Lamented maid! now weeps upon thy tomb.
O fcap'd from life! O fafe on that calm shore,
Where fin, and pain, and paffion are no more!
What never wealth could buy, nor power decree
Regard and Pity, wait fincere on thee :
Lo! foft Remembrance drops a pious tear;
And holy Friendship stands a mourner here.

SONG,