Oh he's gane round and round about,
And tirl'd at the pin ;

But doors were steek'd and windows barr'd,
And nane wad let him in.

"Oh open the door to me, Margaret,

Oh open and lat me in!

For my boots are full o' Clyde's water,
And frozen to the brim."

"I darena open the door to you,
Nor darena lat you in;
For my mither she is fast asleep,
And darena mak nae din.”

"Oh gin ye winna open the door,
Nor yet be kind to me,

Now tell me o' some out-chamber
Where I this nicht may be."

"Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie,
Nor here ye canna be ;

For I've nae chambers out nor in,
Nae ane but barely three.

"The tane o' them is fu' o' corn,

The tither is fu' o' hay;

The tither is fu' o' merry young men,
They winna remove till day."

"Oh fare ye weel, then, may Margaret
Sin better mauna be;

I've win my mother's malison
Coming this nicht to thee."

He's mounted on his coal-black steed,

Oh, but his heart was wae!

But ere he came to Clyde's water,

'Twas half up o'er the brae.

MARGARET'S GHOST.

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 dew;
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;
Now 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 mine 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;
These 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:

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,
Who died for love of you."

The lark sung loud; the morning smiled
With beams of rosy red:

Pale William shook in every limb,

And raving left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay;

And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt 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.

T

WILLIAM AND HELEN.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

FROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose,

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And eyed the dawning red:

Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
Oh, art thou false or dead?"

With gallant Frederick's princely power
He sought the bold Crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.

With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,
And every knight returned to dry
The tears his love had shed.

Our gallant host was homeward bound, With many a song of joy;

Green waved the laurel in each plume, The badge of victory.

And old and young, and sire and son,
To meet them crowd the way,
With shouts, and mirth, and melody,
The debt of love to pay.

Full many a maid her true love met,
And sobb'd in his embrace,
And fluttering joy in tears and smiles
Array'd full many a face.

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;
She sought the host in vain;

For none could tell her William's fate,
If faithless, or if slain.

The martial band is pass'd and gone; She rends her raven hair,

And in distraction's bitter mood

She weeps with wild despair.

Oh, rise, my child," her mother said,
"Nor sorrow thus in vain ;

A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again."

"O mother, what is gone, is gone,
What's lost, for ever lorn:
Death, death alone can comfort me ;
Oh, had I ne'er been born!

"Oh, break, my heart, oh, break at once! Drink my life-blood, Despair!

No joy remains on earth for me,

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For me in heaven no share.”

Oh, enter not in judgment, Lord!"
The pious mother prays;

"Impute not guilt to thy frail child!
She knows not what she says.

Oh, say thy Pater Noster, child!
Oh, turn to God and grace!

His will, that turn'd thy bliss to bale,
Can change thy bale to bliss."

"O mother, mother! what is bliss?
O mother, what is bale?

My William's love was heaven on earth, Without it earth is hell.

"Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven,
Since my loved William's slain?
I only pray'd for William's sake,
And all my prayers were vain."

"Oh take the sacrament, my child,
And check these tears that flow;
By resignation's humble prayer,
Oh, hallow'd be thy woe!"

"No sacrament can quench this fire,
Or slake this scorching pain:
No sacrament can bid the dead
Arise and live again.