VI.

Awake! The cry'd, thy true love calls,
Come from her midnight-grave;

Now let thy pity hear the maid,
Thy love refus'd to fave.

VII.

This is the dumb and dreary hour,
When injur'd ghosts complain;
When yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithlefs fwain.

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 promife love to me,

And not that promise keep?

Why did you fwear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave thofe eyes to weep?

X.

How could you fay my face was fair,
And yet that face forfake?

How could you win my virgin-heart,

Yet leave that heart to break?

XI..

Why did you fay, my lip was fweet,
And made the fcarlet pale?

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

XII. That

XII

That face, alas! no more is air

Thofe lips no longer red:

Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
And every charm is fled.

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

A long and late adieu !

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

Who dy'd for love of you.

XV.

The lark fung loud; the morning fmil'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 breathlefs 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

And word fpoke never more!

grave,

4:86

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

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

In came Margaret's grimly ghoft,

And food 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 foregoing poem; which was written many ago. MALLET. An elegant Latin imitation of this ballad is printed in the works of Vincent Bourne. N.

ΕΡΙ

EPITAPH, on Mr. AIRMAN, and his only Son: who were both interred in the fame grave.

DEAR to the wife and good, difprais'd by none,

Here fleep in peace the father and the fon.

By virtue, as by nature, clofe ally'd,

The painter's genius, but without the pride;
Worth unambitious, wit afraid to thine,
Honour's clear light, and Friendship's warmth divine,
The fon, fair-rifing, knew too fhort a date;
But oh, how more fevere the parent's fate
He faw him torn, untimely, from his fide,
Felt all a father's anguifh, wept, and dy'd!

EPITAPH. ON A YOUNG LADY.

THIS humble grave though no proud ftructures grace,
Yet Truth and Goodness fanctify the place:
Yet blameless Virtue, that adern'd thy bloom,
Lamented maid! now weeps upon thy tomb.
O fcap'd from life! O fafe on that calm fhore,
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 ftands a mourner here.

SONG,

SON G. To a SCOTCH TUNE..

T

THE BIRKS OF ENDERMAY.

I.

HE fmiling morn, the breathing fpring,,
Invite the tuneful birds to fing:

And while they warble from each spray,
Love melts the univerfal lay.

Let us, Amanda, timely wise,

Like them improve the hour that flies
And, in foft raptures, waste the day,,
Among the shades of Endermay..

II..

For foon the winter of the year,
And. age, life's winter, will appear:
At this, thy living bloom muft fade;
As that will strip the verdant shade.
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er;
The feather'd fongfters love no more:
And when they droop, and we decay,
Adieu the fhades of Endermay!

OF