Page:Songs.pdf/2

 

W all was wrapt in dark midnight,

And all were fast asleep,

In glided Marg’ret’s grimly ghost,

And stood at William’s feet,

Her face was like the April morn,

Clad in a wint’ry cloud;

And clay-cold was her lily hand,

That held the sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear,

When youth and years are flown-

Such is the robe that kings must wear,

When death hath reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flow’r,

That sips the silver dew;

The rose was budded in her cheek,

And 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 dy’d before her time.

Awake, she cry’d, thy true-love calls,

Come from her midnight grave,,

Now let they pity hear the maid,

Thy love refus’d to save.

This it the dark 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.