3
"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!
