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OF Leinster, famed for maidens fair, | |
Bright Lucy was the grace, | |
Nor eer did Liffys limpid stream | |
Reflect so sweet a face; | |
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Till luckless love and pining care | 5 |
Impaired her rosy hue, | |
Her coral lips and damask cheeks, | |
And eyes of glossy blue. | |
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O, have you seen a lily pale | |
When beating rains descend? | 10 |
So drooped the slow-consuming maid, | |
Her life now near its end. | |
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By Lucy warned, of flattering swains | |
Take heed, ye easy fair! | |
Of vengeance due to broken vows, | 15 |
Ye perjured swains! beware. | |
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Three times all in the dead of night | |
A bell was heard to ring, | |
And, shrieking, at her window thrice | |
The raven flapped his wing. | 20 |
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Too well the love-lorn maiden knew | |
The solemn boding sound, | |
And thus in dying words bespoke | |
The virgins weeping round: | |
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I hear a voice you cannot hear, | 25 |
Which says I must not stay; | |
I see a hand you cannot see, | |
Which beckons me away. | |
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By a false heart and broken vows | |
In early youth I die. | 30 |
Was I to blame because his bride | |
Was thrice as rich as I? | |
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Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, | |
Vows due to me alone; | |
Nor thou, fond maid! receive his kiss, | 35 |
Nor think him all thy own. | |
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To-morrow in the church to wed, | |
Impatient both prepare; | |
But know, fond maid! and know, false man! | |
That Lucy will be there. | 40 |
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Then bear my corpse, my comrades! bear, | |
This bridegroom blithe to meet; | |
He in his wedding trim so gay, | |
I in my winding sheet. | |
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She spoke; she died. Her corpse was borne | 45 |
The bridegroom blithe to meet: | |
He in his wedding trim so gay, | |
She in her winding sheet. | |
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Then what were perjured Colins thoughts? | |
How were these nuptials kept? | 50 |
The bridesmen flocked round Lucy dead, | |
And all the village wept. | |
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Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, | |
At once his bosom swell; | |
The damps of death bedewed his brow: | 55 |
He shook, he groaned, he fell. | |
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From the vain brideah! bride no more | |
The varying crimson fled, | |
When stretched before her rivals corpse | |
She saw her husband dead. | 60 |
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Then to his Lucys new-made grave | |
Conveyed by trembling swains, | |
One mould with her, beneath one sod, | |
Forever he remains. | |
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Oft at this grave the constant hind | 65 |
And plighted maid are seen; | |
With garlands gay and true-love knots | |
They deck the sacred green. | |
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But, swain forsworn! whoeer thou art, | |
This hallowed spot forbear; | 70 |
Remember Colins dreadful fate, | |
And fear to meet him there. | |
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