Thy form benign, O goddess, wear, To foften, not to wound my heart : What others are to feel, and know myself a man. WILLIAM AND MARGARET*. TWAS WAS at the filent folemn hour, In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, Her face was like an April-morn, And clay-cold was her lily hand, That held her fable fhrowd. * By David Mallet, Efq. So 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 fpringing flower, The rofe was budded in her cheek, But love had, like the canker-worm, Confum'd her early prime : The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; Awake! fhe cry'd, thy true love calls, Now let thy pity hear the maid, This is the dumb and dreary hour, When yawning graves give up their dead, Be Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Why did you promise love to me, Why did you fwear my eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep? How could you fay my face was fair, How could you win my virgin heart, Why did you fay my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale? And why did I, young witlefs maid, That face, alas! no more is fair; Those lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, The hungry worm my fifter is; The winding sheet I wear : And cold and weary lasts our night, But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence; Come, fee, falfe man, how low fhe lies, The lark fung loud; the morning fmil'd, Pale William quak'd in every limb, He hied him to the fatal place And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf, And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, And thrice he wept full fore: Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, And word spoke never more! WINI WINIFRED A. AWAY! let nought to love displeasing, My Winifreda, move your care; Let nought delay the heavenly bleffing, What tho' no grants of royal donor With pompous titles grace our blood; We'll fhine in more fubftantial honours, And to be noble we'll be good. Our name, while virtue thus we tender, What tho' from fortune's lavish bounty What |