4
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.
GO, YARROW FLOWER.
Go, Yarrow flow'r, thou shalt be blest
To lie on beauteous Marv's breast;
