William And Margaret by David Mallet

William And Margaret by David Mallet

'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 devv ;
The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.

But love had, like the cankerworm.
Consumed 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 refused to save !

'This is the dumb and dreary hour,
'When injured 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 closed in death,
'And every charm is fled.

' The hvingry 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 late adieu !
' Come see, false man, how low she lies
' Who died for love of you I '

The lark sung loud ; the morning smiled
With beams of rosy red :
Pale William quaked in every limb,
And raving left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place
Where Margaret's body lay ;
And strctch'd him on the green-grass turf
That wrapp'd 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 !

David Mallet (1705-1765)

The above 'William and Margaret' poem was developed by Mallet

from a fragment of an old ballad named 'Margaret's Ghost'