And ravished was that constant heart, She did to every heart prefer; For though it could his king forget, 'Twas true and loyal still to her. Amid those unrelenting flames She bore this constant heart to see; But when 'twas mouldered into dust, "Now, now," she cried, "I'll follow thee. "My death, my death alone can show The pure and lasting love I bore: Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours, And let us, let us weep no more." The dismal scene was o'er and past, The lover's mournful hearse retired; The maid drew back her languid head, And sighing forth his name expired. Though justice ever must prevail, The tear my Kitty sheds is due; For seldom shall she hear a tale So sad, so tender, and so true. WILLIAM AND MARGARET. '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, 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: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That sips the silver dew; The rose was budded in her cheek, Just opening to the view. But Love had, like the canker-worm, Consumed her early prime: The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; She died before her time. "Awake!" she cried, "thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refused to save. "This is the dumb and dreary hour When injured ghosts complain; When 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 my 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 flattering tale? "That face, alas! no more is fair; Those lips no longer red: Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, And every charm is fled. "The hungry worm my sister is; This winding sheet I wear: And cold and weary lasts our night, Till that last morn appear. "But hark! the cock has warned me hence; A long and late adieu! Come, see, false man, how low she lies, Who died for love of you."