William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
William and MargaretDavid Mallet (c. 17051765)
’T
When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret’s grimly ghost,
And stood at William’s feet,
Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay-cold was her lily hand,
That held her sable shroud.
When youth and years are flown:
Such is the robe that kings must wear
When death has reft their crown.
That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.
Consumed her early prime:
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek—
She died before her time.
Come from her midnight grave:
Now let thy pity hear the maid
Thy love refused to save.
When injured ghosts complain;—
When yawning graves give up their dead
To haunt the faithless swain.
Thy pledge and broken oath!
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.
And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?
And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break?
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid!
Believe the flattering tale?
Those lips no longer red:
Dark are my eyes, now closed in death,
And every charm is fled.
This winding-sheet I wear:
And cold and weary lasts our night,
Till that last morn appear.
A long and last adieu!
Come see, false man, how low she lies,
Who died for love of you.’
With beams of rosy red;
Pale William quaked in every limb,
And raving left his bed.
Where Margaret’s body lay;
And stretched him on the green grass turf
That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice he wept full sore;
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.