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The rose was budded in her cheek,

Just opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker-worm,

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 dark 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. Wby 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 that 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 hungry worm my sister is,
This winding-sheet I wear;

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And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last morn appear.
But hark! the cock has warned me hence;

A long and last adieu !
Come see, false man, how low she lies,

Who died for love of you."
The lark sung loud ; the morniug 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 stretched him on the green grass turf,

That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice he called on Margaret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore;
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.

2. EDWIN AND EMMA. Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of Health and Peace,

A humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma flourished fair,

Beneath a mother's eye:
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her blest, and die.
The softest blush that nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek ;
Such orient colour smiles through heaven,

When vernal mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

This charmer of the plains :
That sun who bids their diamonds blaze,

To paint our lily deigns.
Long had she fill'd each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair ;

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And though by all a wonder owned,

Yet knew not she was fair :
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art,
And from whose eyes serenely mild,

Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual flame was quickly caught;

Was quickly too revealed :
For neither bosom lodged a wish

That virtue keeps concealed.
What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow !
But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.
His sister, who, like Envy formed,

Like her in mischief joyed,
To work them harm, with wicked skill,

Each darker art employed. T'he father too, a sordid man,

Who love nor pity knew, Was all-unfeeling as the clod

From which his riches grew. Long had ne seen their secret flame,

And seen it long unmoved :
Then, with a father's frown, at last

Had sternly disapproved.
In Edwin's gentle heart a war

Of differing passions strove;
His heart, that 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 walked and wept. Oft, too, on Stanmore's wintry waste,

Beneath the moonlight shade

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