But love had, like the canker-worm,
Consum'd her early prime:

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time.

"Awake!" she cry'd, "thy true-love calls,
Come from her midnight grave;
Now let thy pity hear the maid,
Thy love refus'd to save.

"This is the dark and dreary hour,
When injur'd ghosts complain;
Now yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swain.

"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge, and broken oath :
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.

"Why did you promise love to me, And not that promise keep?

Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep?

"How could you say my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?

How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break ?

"Why did you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid,
Believe the flatt'ring tale?

"That face, alas! no more is fair;
These lips no longer red;
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
And ev'ry charm is fled.

"The hungry worm my sister is;
This winding sheet I wear;
And cold and weary lasts our night,
'Till the last morn appear.

"But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence! A long and last adieu !

Come sec, false man, how low she lies,
Who dy'd for love of you."

The lark sung loud; the morning smil❜d,
With beams of rosy red:

Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,
And, raving, left his bed.

He hy'd him to the fatal place,
Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay.

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name,
And thrice he wept full sore;
And laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.

ODE TO THE HARP.

AWAKE, O Harp! and sooth my soul,
Ah! much I need relief:

Thy Halcyon sound can pain control,
And hush the storm of grief.

Mallet.

Angelic hope devis'd thy frame,
Peace wrought thy golden strings,

Bright rapture long shall bless thy name,

And health, with purple wings,

Wrapt in delirium sweet, I dwell
On thy seraphic strain,
For me a Heav'nly charming spell
Thy living chords contain.

MS.

HYMN

Composed by Dr. Hawkesworth a month before his death, in 1773, and dictated by him to his wife.

IN sleep's serene oblivion laid,

I safely past the silent night;
At once I see the breaking shade,

And drink again the morning light.

New born-I bless the waking hour,

Once more, with awe, rejoice to BE;
My conscious soul resumes her power,

And springs, my gracious GOD, to thee.

Oh! guide me through the various maze
My doubtful feet are doom'd to tread ;
And spread thy shield's protecting blaze
When dangers press around my head.

A deeper, shade will soon impend,

A deeper sleep my eyes oppress;
Yet still thy strength shall me defend,
Thy goodness still shall deign to bless.

That deeper shade shall fade away,
That deeper sleep shall leave my eyes;
Thy light shall give eternal day!

Thy love the rapture of the skies!

VERSES

ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE TRENT,
After a long absence in London.

YE clear crystal streams in murmers soft flowing,

On whose banks 1 have wander'd to welcome the day, Ere the sun in the east, with radiance mild glowing, Has ting'd the hill top with his all-cheering ray.

Enraptur❜d I view the gay prospects returning,

Which often in youth's early season I knew ; When accomplish'd my task, and for liberty burning, With what eager delight and wild transport I flew!

Alas! since that day, how often in sorrow

Has my heart sigh'd for peace in the crowd of the town; Still counting the days, in hopes that to-morrow

Would repay all my cares, and my wishes still crown.

Hope lent her fond aid, and induc'd me to wander
In the mazes and bustle of life's busy train,
Where, regardless of fame, or th' allurements of grandeur,
I sigh'd for content, but alas! sigh'd in vain.

Long protracted the day that brought the wish'd treasure,
And youth's fairy prospects, alas! were no more;
Yet still, in retirement, I sigh for that pleasure
Which these tranquil scenes alone can restore.