Verse > Anthologies > Andrew Macphail, ed. > The Book of Sorrow
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Andrew Macphail, comp.  The Book of Sorrow.  1916.
 
XXXII. Visions
From ‘William and Margaret’
By David Mallet (c. 1705–1765)
 
’TWAS at the silent, solemn hour
  When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret’s grimly ghost,
  And stood at William’s feet.
 
Her face was like an April-morn        5
  Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay-cold was her lily-hand,
  That held her sable shroud.
 
So shall the fairest face appear
  When youth and years are flown:        10
Such is the robe that kings must wear,
  When Death has reft their crown.
 
Her bloom was like the springing flower,
  That sips the silvery dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek—        15
  Just opening to the view.
 
But love had, like the canker-worm,
  Consum’d her early prime:
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
  She died before her time.        20
 
‘Awake!’ she cried, ‘thy true-love calls,
  Come from her midnight grave;
Now let thy pity hear the maid
  Thy love refused to save.’…
 
He hied him to the fatal place        25
  Where Margaret’s body lay;
And stretch’d him on the green-grass turf
  That wrapt her breathless clay.
 
And thrice he called on Margaret’s name,
  And thrice he wept full sore;        30
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
  And word spake never more!
 
 
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