Oh! have you feen a lilly pale, By Lucy warn'd, of flattering fwains, Three times all in the dead of night, Too well the love-lorn maiden knew, "I hear a voice, you cannot hear, "By a falfe heart, and broken vows, "In early youth I die. "Am I to blame, because his bride "Is thrice as rich as I? Ah Colin give her not thy vows; "Vows due to me alone; "Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs, "Nor think him all thy own. "To-morrow in the Church to wed, "Impatient, both prepare; "But know, fond maid, and know, falfe man "That Lucy will be there.. "Then bear my corfe: ye comrades, bear, "I in my winding fheet." gay, She fpoke, fhe dy'd-her corfe was borne, She in her winding fheet. Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts Confufion, thame, remorse, defpair, The damps of death bedew'd his brow, From the vain bride, (ah bride no more) When, ftretch'd before her rival's corfe, Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, Oft at their grave the conftant hind But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art, In a comedy of Fletcher, called The Knight of the burning Pefle, old Merry-Thought enters repeating the following verfes: When it was grown to dark midnight, In came Margaret's grimly ghoft, 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 following poem; which was written many years ago. 'TWAS I. WAS at the filent, folemn hour, In glided MARGARET's grimly ghost, II. Her face was like an April morn, And clay-cold was her lilly-hand, III. So fhall 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 a fpringing flower, The rofe was budded in her cheek, V. But Love, had like the canker-worm, Confum'd her early prime : The rofe grew pale, and left her check; She dy'd before her time. VI. Awake! fhe cry'd, thy true Love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy Pity hear the maid, |