Four favourite songs/William and Margaret

SONGS.

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WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

'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
⁠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
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,
⁠Just 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 died before her time.

"Awake!" she cried, " thy true love calls.
⁠Come from her midnight grave:
Now let thy pity hear the maid
⁠Thy love refus'd to save.

This is the dumb and dreary hour
⁠When injur'd 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;
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.
⁠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?

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,
⁠Those lips no longer red!
Dark are my eyes, now clos' in death,
⁠And every charm is fled.

The hungry worm my sister is
⁠This winding-sheet I wear;
And cold and weary lasts our night,
⁠Till the last morn appear.

But, lark! the cock has warn'd me hence;
⁠A long and late adieu!
Come see, false man! how low she lies
⁠Who died for love of you."

The lark sung loud, the morning smil'd
⁠With beans of rosy red;
Pale William quak'd in every limb,
⁠And, raving, left his bed.

He lied him to the fatal place
⁠Where Margaret's body lay,
And stretch'a him on the green-grass turf
⁠That wrapt her breathless clay.

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,
⁠And thrice he wept full sore;
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave.
⁠And word spake never more.