lover's stay.

"O, raise thy voice, if thou art near!
Its weakest sound were bliss:
What other sound my heart can cheer
In such a gloom as this?

"But from the hills with stunning sound
The dashing torrents fall;
Loud is the raging tempest round,
And mocks a lover's call.

"Ha! see across the dreary waste
A gentle form appears!
It is my love, my cares are past,
How vain were all my fears?"

The form approach'd, but sad and slow,
Nor with a lover's tread;
And from his cheek the youthful glow,
And greeting smile was fled.

Dim sadness hung upon his brow;
Fix'd was his beamless eye:
His face was like the moon-light bow
Upon a win'try sky.

And fix'd and ghastly to the sight,
His strengthen'd features rose;
And bended was his graceful height,
And bloody were his clothes.

"O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast!
Thy sorrow now is vain:
Thy Edward from his peaceful rest
Shall ne'er return again.

"A treach'rous friend has brought me low,
And fix'd my early doom;
And laid my corpse, with feigned woe,
Beneath a vaulted tomb

"To take thee to my home I sware,
And here we were to meet:
Wilt thou a narrow coffin share,
And part my winding-sheet?

"But late the lord of many lands,
And now a grave is all:
My blood is warm upon his hands
Who revels in my hall.

"Yet think thy father's hoary hair
Is water'd with his tears;
He has but thee to sooth his care,
And prop his load of years.

"Remember Edward when he's gone,
He only liv'd for thee;
And when thou'rt pensive, and alone,
O Marg'ret call on me!

"Yet deep beneath the mould'ring clod
I rest my wounded head:
And terrible that call, and loud,
Which shall awake the dead."

"No, Edward, I will follow thee,
And share thy hapless doom:
Companions shall our spirits be,
Tho' distant is thy tomb.

"O! never to my father's tower
Will I return again!
A bleeding heart has little power
To ease another's pain.

"Upon the wing my spirit flies,
I feel my course is run;
Nor shall these dim and weary eyes
Behold to-morrow's sun."

Like early dew, or hoary frost,
Spent with the beaming day,
So shrunk the pale and wat'ry ghost,
And dimly wore away.

No longer Marg'ret felt the storm,
She bow'd her lovely head;
And with her lover's fleeting form,
Her gentle spirit fled.

PART II.

Loud roars the wind that shakes this wall;
It is no common blast:
Deep hollow sounds pas