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By Lucy warn'd, of flatt'ring swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured fwains, beware!

Three times all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And fhrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flapp'd her wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn-boding found,
And thus in dying words bespoke
The maidens weeping round,

I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which fays Į must not stay;

I fee a hand you cannot fee,
Which beckons me away.

By a false heart, and broken vows,
In early youth I die :

Was I to blame, because the bride

Is twice as rich as I?

Ah,

Ah, COLIN, give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone!

Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
And think him all thy own!

To-morrow in the church to wed

Impatient both prepare:

But know, fond maid, and know, false man, That Lucy will be there.

Then bear my corfe, ye comrades dear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet ;

He in his wedding-trim so gay,

I in my winding sheet!

She spoke and dy'd, her corfe was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;

He in his wedding-trim fo gay,

She in her winding sheet.

Oh! what were perjur'd COLIN's thoughts? How were thofe nuptials kept?

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept.

Compaffion,

Compaffion, fhame, remorse, despair,
At once his bofom fwell:

The damps of death bedew'd his brows,
He fhook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride, a bride no more,
The varying crimson fled;
When, ftretch'd befide her rival's corse,
She faw her husband dead.

He to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling fwains,
One mold with her, beneath one fod,
For ever now remains.

Oft at this place the conftant hind
And plighted maid are feen:
With garlands gay, and true love knots
They deck the facred green.

But, fwain forfworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallowed fpot forbear!

Remember COLIN's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

TICKELL.

W

HEN all was wrapt in dark midnight
And all were fast asleep,

In glided MARGARET's grimly ghoft
And ftood 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 fable shroud.

So fhall 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 fips the filver dew;

The rofe was budded in her cheek,

Juft opening to the view.

But

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

The rofe grew pale and left her cheek,
She died before her time.

Awake, fhe cried, thy true-love calls
Come from her midnight grave;
Now let thy pity hear the maid
Thy love refufed to fave.

This is the mirk and fearful hour
When injur'd ghosts complain;
Now dreary graves give up their dead
To haunt the faithlefs fwain.

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 fay my face was fair,

And yet that face forfake?
How could you win my virgin heart,

Yet leave that heart to break?

How

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