Margaret,' shall preserve his name after his clumsy imitation of Thomson, called 'The Excursion,' and his long, rambling 'Amyntor and Theodora,' have been forgotten. WILLIAM AND MARGARET. 1 'Twas at the silent, solemn hour 2 Her face was like an April-morn, And clay-cold was her lily hand, 3 So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown: 4 Her bloom was like the springing flower, 5 But love had, like the canker-worm, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; 6 'Awake!' she cried, 'thy true love calls, Now let thy pity hear the maid, 7 This is the dumb and dreary hour, When injured ghosts complain; When yawning graves give up their dead, 8 Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, And give me back my maiden-vow, 9 Why did you promise love to me, Why did you swear my eyes were bright, 10 How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin-heart, 11 Why did you say my lip was sweet, And why did I, young witless maid! 12 That face, alas! no more is fair, Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, 13 The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. 14 But, hark! the cock has warned me hence; A long and late adieu! Come, see, false man, how low she lies, 15 The lark sung loud; the morning smiled, 16 He hied him to the fatal place And stretched him on the green-grass turf, 17 And thrice he called on Margaret's name, THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY. The smiling morn, the breathing spring, And, while they warble from the spray, Let us, Amanda, timely wise, For soon the winter of the year, age, At this thy living bloom will fade, Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, JAMES MERRICK. MERRICK was a clergyman, as well as a writer of verse. He was born in 1720, and became a Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, where Lord North was one of his pupils. He took orders, but owing to incessant pains in the head, could not perform duty. He died in 1769. His works are a translation of Tryphiodorus, done at twenty, a version of the Psalms, a collection of Hymns, and a few miscellaneous pieces, one good specimen of which we subjoin. THE CHAMELEON. Oft has it been my lot to mark Two travellers of such a cast, And on their way, in friendly chat, Now talked of this, and then of that; Sure never lived beneath the sun: A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, 'Hold there,' the other quick replies, 'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye.' 'Green!' cries the other in a fury: Why, sir, d' ye think I've lost my eyes?' "Twere no great loss,' the friend replies; For if they always serve you thus, You'll find them but of little use.' So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows: When luckily came by a third; To him the question they referred: And begged he'd tell them, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. |