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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:
'Tis now, alas ! too late.'
• Our Heavenly Father, if we praye,
Will help a suff'ring childe;
So shall thy grief grow milde.'
O mother, what I feel within,
No sacrament can staye;
To bear the sight of daye.'
May be, among the heathen folk
Thy William false doth prove,
And takes another love. ..
Then wherefore sorrow for his loss?
Thy moans are all in vain :
His falsehode brings him paine.'
O mother, mother! gone is gone:
The grave mie only safeguard is
O, had I ne'er been borne !
'Go out, go out, my lampe of life:
In grislie darkness die;
For ever let me die.'
• Almighty God ! O do not judge
My poor unhappy childe ;
Her anguish makes her wilde.
"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 lampe of life ;
In endless darkness die :
Without him scorn 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 morne, till the pale stars
Again did freeke the skye.
When, harke! abroade she hearde the trampe
Of nimble-hoofed steed;
And climb the stair in speede.
And soon she herde a tinkling hande,
That twirled at the pin;
These words were breathed in..
• What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe;
Art watching or asleepe ?
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 soon I go;
Aryse, and come with mee.'
O William, enter first my bowre,
And give me one embrace:
Awayte a little space.'
“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 mount behinde;
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.
‘Looke up; the moone is bright, and we
Outstride the earthlie men :
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, ma
Wherein that I mày creepe?' ; • There's room enough for thee and mee,
Wherein that wee may sleepe.
* All as thou ly'st upon thy couch,
Aryse, no longer stop;
The chamber door 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 sparkling pebbles fly.
How swift the flood, the mead, the wood,
Aright, aleft, are gone!
But earthlie swoone 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?
“The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte ;
Dost quake the blast to stem?
No, no, but what of them?'
* How glumlie sownes yon dirgye song !
Night-ravens flappe the wing.
The psalmes of death who sing?
* It creeps, the swarthie funeral traine,
The corse is onn the beere ;
The chaunte doth meet the eere.
Go, bear her corse, when midnight's past,