“These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language: [Mallet's Margaret's Ghost.]

"Since the first edition, some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy."

The variations in Herd's copy, (i. 145,) and in Ritson's, (Ancient Songs, ii. 92,) are unimportant.

As it fell out on a long summer's day,
Two lovers they sat on a hill;

They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.

"I see no harm by you, Margaret, And you see none by mee;

Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock

A rich wedding you shall see."

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,

Combing her yellow hair;

There she spyed sweet William and his bride,

As they were a riding near.

Then down she layd her ivory combe,

And braided her hair in twain:

She went alive out of her bower,

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But ne'er came alive in't again.

When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,

Then came the spirit of fair Margret,
And stood at Williams feet.

"Are you awake, sweet William ?"shee said,

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Or, sweet William, are you asleep?

God give you joy of your gay

bride-bed,

And me of my winding-sheet."

When day was come, and night 'twas gone,
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,

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My dear, I have cause to weep.

"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,
Such dreames are never good:

I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood."

"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,

They never do prove good;

To dream thy bower was full of red swine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood."

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21-24. God give you joy, you lovers true,

In bride-bed fast asleep;

Lo! I am going to my green-grass grave,
And I'm in my winding sheet.

HERD'S COP

He called up his merry men all,

By one, by two, and by three;

Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
By the leave of my ladie."

And when he came to fair Margret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;

And who so ready as her seven brethren,

To let sweet William in.

Then he turned up the covering-sheet;

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Pray let me see the dead;

Methinks she looks all pale and wan,
She hath lost her cherry red.

"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,

Than any of thy kin:

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win."

With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous mone,

"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,

And let our sister alone."

"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,

I do but what is right;

I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse,

By day, nor yet by night.

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"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine :
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
Sweet William dyed the morrow:
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
Sweet William dyed for sorrow.

Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,

And William in the higher:

Out of her brest there sprang a rose,

And out of his a briar.

They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tyed in a true lovers knot,
Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,

And by misfortune cut them down,

Or they had now been there.

62. Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. P.

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SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST

As already remarked, is often made the sequel to other ballads. (See Clerk Saunders, p. 45.) It was first printed in the fourth volume of Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, with some imperfections, and with two spurious stanzas for a conclusion. We subjoin to Ramsay's copy the admirable version obtained by Motherwell from recitation, and still another variation furnished by Kinloch.

For the corresponding Scandinavian ballads, the reader is referred to Nyerup's Danish collection, i. 201-217, especially Aage og Else, p. 210, and to the Swedish Sorgens Magt, Geijer, i. 29, ii. 204, or Arwidsson, ii. 103. Goethe's Braut von Corinth is a beautiful pendant to all these pieces. See also vol. i. p. 335.

THERE came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous groan,

And ay he tirled at the pin,

But answer made she none.

"Is that my father Philip,

Or is't my brother John?

Or is't my true love Willy,

From Scotland new come home?"