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Long had he seen their mutual flame,

And seen it long unmov'd;
Then with a father's frown at last,
He sternly disapprov❜d.

In Edwin's gentle heart a war
Of differing passions strove;
His heart which durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.

Denied her sight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.

Oft too in Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade,
In sighs to pour his soften'd soul
The midnight mourner stray'd.

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His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercast;

So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blast.

The parents now, with late remorse,
Hung o'er his dying bed,

And wearied Heav'n with fruitless pray's,
And fruitless sorrows shed.

"Tis past,' he cried, but if your souls

Sweet mercy yet can move,

Let these dim eyes once more behold
What they must ever love.'

She came; his cold hand softly touch'd, ona 1

And bath'd with many a tear;

Fast falling o'er the primrose pale

So morning dews appear.

But oh! his sister's jealous care

(A cruel sister she!)

Forbad what Emma came to say, 'My Edwin, live for me.'

Now homeward as she hopeless went
The church-yard path along,

The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lover's funeral song.

Amid the falling gloom of night
Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,
His groan in every sound.

Alone, appall'd, thus had she pass'd

The visionary vale,

When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,

Sad sounding in the gale!

Just then she reach'd, with trembling step,
Her aged mother's door,

'He's gone,' she cried, and I shall see

That angel face no more!

'I feel, I feel this breaking heart

Beat high against my side:'

From her white arm down sunk her head;
She, shivering, sigh'd and died.

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Mallet.

WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

WHEN all was wrapp'd in dark midnight,

And all were fast asleep,

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,

And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like the April morn
Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay cold was her lily hand,
That held the 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 flow'r
That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
And opening to the view.

But love had, like the canker-worm,
Consum'd her early prime;

The rose grew pale, and left her check ;
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 dark and fearful hour
When injur'd ghosts complain:
Now dreary 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.

'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?

'How could 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 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,
That lip no longer red;

Dark are my eyes, now clos'd 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 that last morn appear.

'But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence:

A long and last adieu !

Come see, false man! how low she lies

That died for love of you.'

Now birds did sing, and Morning smil❜d,
And show'd her glittering head;
Pale William shook in every limb,
Then, raving, left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place
Where Margret's body lay,

And stretch'd him on the green-grass turf
That wrapp'd her breathless clay:

And thrice he call'd on Margret's name,
And thrice he wept full sore;

Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,

And word spoke never more.

Mallet.

LUCY AND COLIN.

OF Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face;

Till luckless love, and pining care,
Impair'd her rosy hue,

Her coral lips and damask cheeks,
And eyes of glossy blue.

O have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair;

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjur'd swains, beware.

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