| |
| ’TWAS at the silent, solemn hour, | |
| When night and morning meet; | |
| In glided Margaret’s grimly ghost, | |
| And stood at William’s feet, | |
| |
| Her face was like an April morn | 5 |
| 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: | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| Just opening to the view. | |
| |
| But love had, like the canker-worm, | |
| Consumed her early prime: | |
| The rose grew pale, and left her cheek— | |
| She died before her time. | 20 |
| |
| ‘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 dumb and dreary hour, | 25 |
| When injured ghosts complain;— | |
| When yawning graves give up their dead | |
| To haunt the faithless swain. | |
| |
| ‘Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, | |
| Thy pledge and broken oath! | 30 |
| And give me back my maiden vow, | |
| And give me back my troth. | |
| |
| ‘Why did you promise love to me, | |
| And not that promise keep? | |
| Why did you swear my eyes were bright, | 35 |
| Yet leave those eyes to weep? | |
| |
| ‘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? | 40 |
| |
| ‘Why did you say my lip was sweet, | |
| And made the scarlet pale? | |
| And why did I, young witless maid! | |
| Believe the flattering tale? | |
| |
| ‘That face, alas! no more is fair, | 45 |
| Those lips no longer red: | |
| Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, | |
| And every charm is fled. | |
| |
| ‘The hungry worm my sister is; | |
| This winding-sheet I wear: | 50 |
| And cold and weary lasts our night, | |
| Till that last morn appear. | |
| |
| ‘But hark! the cock has warned me hence. | |
| A long and last adieu! | |
| Come see, false man, how low she lies, | 55 |
| Who died for love of you.’ | |
| |
| The lark sang loud, the morning smiled | |
| With beams of rosy red; | |
| Pale William quaked in every limb, | |
| And raving left his bed. | 60 |
| |
| He hied him to the fatal place | |
| Where Margaret’s body lay; | |
| And stretched him on the green grass turf | |
| That wrapt her breathless clay. | |
| |
| And thrice he called on Margaret’s name, | 65 |
| And thrice he wept full sore; | |
| Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, | |
| And word spake never more. | |
| |
