Her mother ran and lyfte her

And clasped in her arme,

up,

"My child, my child, what dost thou ail?
God shield thy life from harm!"

"O mother, mother, William's gone!

What's all besydes to me?

There is no mercye, sure, above!
All, all were spar'd but hee!”
"Knell downe, thy paternoster saye,
Twill calm thy troubled spright:
The Lord is wyse, the Lord is good;
What hee hath done is right."
"O mother, mother say not so;
Most cruel is my fate:

I prayde, and prayde; but watte avayl'd?
'Tis now, alas! too late."
"Our Heav'nly Father, if we praye,
Will help a suff'ring childe:
Go take the holy sacrament;
So shall thy grief grow milde."
"O mother, what I feel within,
No sacrament can staye;
No sacrament can teche the dead
To bear the sight of daye."
"May be, among the heathen folk
Thy William false doth prove,
And puts away his faith and troth,
And takes another love.

Then wherefore sorrow for his loss?
Thy moans are all in vain :
And when his soul and body parte,
His falsehode brings him paine."

"O mother, mother! gone is gone :
My hope is all forlorne :

The grave mie onlye safeguarde is-
O, had I ne'er been borne !

Go out, go out, my lampe of life;
In grislie darkness die:

There is no mercye, sure above!

For ever let me die."

"Almighty God! O do not judge

My poor unhappy child;

She knows not what her lips pronounce,
Her anguish makes her wilde.
Kk.

VOL. XXXVIII.

My

My girl, forget thine earthly woe,

And think on God and bliss ;
For so, at least, shall not thy soule
Its heavenly bridegroom miss."
"O mother, mother! what is blisse,
And what the fiendis celle?
With him 'tis heaven any where,
Without my William, helle.

"Go out, go out, my lamp of life;
In endless darkness die :
Without him I must loathe the earth,
Without him scorne the skye."
And so despaire did rave and rage
Athwarte her boiling veins;
Against the Providence of Heaven
She hurlde her impious strains.

She bet her breaste, and wrung her hands,
And rollde her tearlesse eye,

From rise of morn, till the pale stars
Again did freeke the skye.

When harke! abroade she hearde the trampe

Of nimble-hoofed steed;

She hearde a knighte with clank alight,

And climb the staire in speede.

And soon she herde a tinkling hande,

That twirled at the pin;

And thro' her door, that open'd not,

These words were breathed in.

"What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe; Art watching or asleepe?

My love, dost yet remember mee,

And dost thou laugh or weep?"

"Ah! William here so late at night!
Oh! I have watchte and wak'd:
Whence dost thou come? For thy return
My herte has sorely ak'd."

"At midnight only we may ride;

I come o'er land and sea :

I mounted late, but soone I go;
Aryse, and come with me."

"O William, enter first my bowre,

And give me one embrace :

The blasts athwarte the hawthorne hiss;

Awayte a little space."

The

The blasts athwarte the hawthorn hiss,

I may not harboure here;

My spurre

is sharpe, my courser pawes, My houre of flighte is nere.

"All as thou lyest upon thy couch,
Aryse, and mounte behinde;
To-night we'le ride a thousand miles,
The bridal bed to finde.”

"How, ride to-night a thousand miles?
Thy love thou dost bemocke:

Eleven is the stroke that still

Rings on within the clocke."

"Look up; the moon is bright, and we Outstride the earthlie men:

I'll take thee to the bridal bed,

And night shall end but then;""

"And where is, then, thy house and home And where thy bridal bed "

'Tis narrow, silent, chilly, dark;' Far hence I rest my head."

"And is there any room for mee,

Wherein that I may creepe?"

There's room enough for thee and mee,
Wherein that we may sleepe.

All as thou ly'st upon thy couch,
Aryse, no longer stop;

The wedding guests thy coming waite;
The chamber dore is ope."

All in her sarke, as there she lay,
Upon his horse she sprung:
And with her lily hands so pale,
About her William clung.
And hurry-skurry forth they go,

Unheeding wet or dry;

And horse and rider snort and blow,

And sparkling pebbles fly.

How swift the flood, the mead, the wood,

Aright, aleft, are gone!

The bridges thunder as they pass;

But earthlie sowne is none.

Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede;

Splash, splash, across the see;

Hurrah!" the dead can ride apace;

Dost feare to ride with mee ?**

Kk 2

The

The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte;
Dost quake the blast to stem?

Dost shudder, mayde, to secke the dead ?"
"No, no, but what of them?

How glumlie sownes yon dirgye song!
Night-ravens flappe the wing,
What knell doth slowlie toll ding-dong?
The psalmes of death who sing?
It creeps, the swarthie funeral traine,
The corse is onn the beere ;

Like croke of todes from lonely moores,
The chaunte doth meet the eere."
"Go, bear her corse when midnight's past,
With song, and tear, and wayle;
I've gott my wife, I take her home,
My howre of wedlocke hayl.

Lead forth, O clarke, the chaunting quire,
To swell our nuptial song:

Come, prieste, and reade the blessing soone;
For bed, for bed we long."

They heede his calle, and husht the sowne ;
The biere was seene no more;

And followde him ore feelde and flood
Yet faster than before.

Hallo! hallo! away they goe,
Unheeding wet or drye;

And horse and rider snort and blowe,
And sparkling pebbles flye.

How swifte the hill, how swifte the dale,

Aright, aleft, are gone!

By hedge and tree, by thorpe and towne,

They gallop, gallop on.

Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede ;

Splash, splash, acrosse the sea; "Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;

Dost fear to ride with mee?

Look up, look up, an airy crewe

In roundel daunces reele:

The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte,
Mayst dimlie see them wheele.

Come to, come to, ye gostlie crew,

Come to, and follow mee,

And daunce for us the wedding daunce,

When we in bed shall be."

And

And brush, brush, brush, the ghostlie crew,
Come wheeling o'er their heads,
All rustling like the wither'd leaves,
That wyde the wirlwind spreads.
Halloo! halloo! away they go,
Unheeding wet or dry;

And horse and rider snort and blowe,
And sparkling pebbles flye.

And all that in the moonshyne lay,
Behynde them fled afar;

And backwarde scudded overhead
The sky and every star.

Tramp, tramp, across the lande they speede;
Splash, splash, across the sea;
"Hurrah! the dead can ride apace;
Dost fear to ride with mee?

I weene the cock prepares to crowe;
The sand will soone be runne:
I snuffe the earlye morning aire;
Downe, downe! our work is done.
The dead, the dead can ryde apace;
Oure wed.bed here is fit:

Oure race is ridde, our journey ore,
Oure endlesse union knit.

And lo! an yren-grated grate

Soon biggens to their viewe:

He crackte his whyppe; the clangynge boltes,
The doores asunder flewe.

They pass, and 'twas on graves they trode:
"Tis hither we are bounde:"
And many a tombstone gostlie white
Lay inn the moonshyne round.

And when hee from his steede alytte,
His armour, black as cinder,
Did moulder, moulder all awaye,
As were it made of tinder.

His head became a naked scull;
Nor haire nor eyne had hee,

His body grew a skeleton,
Whilome so bly the of blee.

And att his drye and boney heele

No spur was left to be;

And inn his witherde hande you might

The scythe and hour-glasse see.