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Shone there a dawn so glorious and so gay,
As shines the merry dawn of Anster market-day.

Round through the vast circumference of sky

One speck of small cloud cannot eye behold, Save in the East some fleeces bright of dye,

That stripe the hem of heav'n with woolly gold, Whereon are happy angels wont to lie

Lolling, in amaranthine flowers enrollid, That they may spy the precious light of God, Flung from the blessed East o'er the fair Earth


The fair Earth laughs through all her boundless

range, Heaving her green hills high to greet the beam; City and village, steeple, cot, and grange,

Gilt as with Nature's purest leaf-gold seem; The heaths, and upland muirs, and fallows, change

Their barren brown into a ruddy gleam, And, on ten thousand dew-bent leaves and sprays, Twinkle ten thousand suns, and Aing their petty


Up from their nests and fields of tender corn

Full merrily the little sky-larks spring, And on their dew-bedabbled pinions borne,

Mount to the heaven's blue key-stone flickering. They turn their plume-soft bosoms to the morn,

And hail the genial light, and cheerly sing; Echo the gladsome hills and valleys round, As half the bells of Fife ring loud, and swell the




Upon a little dappled nag, whose mane

Seem'd to have robb'd the steeds of Phæton, Whose bit, and pad, and fairly-fashion'd rein,

With silvery adornments richly shone, Came Maggy Lauder forth, enwheel'd with train

Of knights and lairds around her trotting on : At James' right hand she rode, a beauteous bride, That well deserv'd to go by haughtiest Monarch's


Her form was as the Morning's blithsome star,

That, capp'd with lustrous coronet of beams, Rides up the dawning orient in her car, New-wash’d, and doubly fulgent from the

streams; The Chaldee shepherd eyes her light afar,

And on his knees adores her as she gleams : So shone the stately form of Maggy Lauder, And so the admiring crowds pay homage and

applaud her.

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Her face was as the summer cloud, whereon

The dawning sun delights to rest his rays; Compar'd with it old Sharon's vale, o'ergrown

With flaunting roses, had resign'd its praise ; For why? Her face with Heaven's own roses

shone, Mocking the morn, and witching men to gaze ; And he that gaz'd with cold unsmitten soul, That blockhead's heart was ice thrice bak'd be

neath the pole.

Her locks, apparent tufts of wiry gold,

Lay on her lily temples, fairly dangling, And on each hair, so harmless to behold,

A lover's soul hung mercilessly strangling; The piping silly zephyrs vied to infold

The tresses in their arms so slim and tangling, And thrid in sport these lover-noosing snares, And play'd at hide-and-seek amid the golden hairs.

Her eye was as an honour'd palace, where

A choir of lightsome Graces frisk and dance ; What object drew her gaze, how mean soe'er,

Got dignity and honour from the glance; Woe to the man on whom she unaware

Did the dear witchery of her eye elance ! 'Twas such a thrilling, killing, keen regardMay Heav'n from such a look preserve each ten

der bard!

So on she rode in virgin majesty,

Charming the thin dead air to kiss her lips, And with the light and grandeur of her eye

Shaming the proud sun into dim eclipse ; While, round her presence clustering far and nigh,

On horseback some, with silver spurs and whips, And some afoot, with shoes of dazzling buckles, Attended knights, and lairds, and clowns with

horny knuckles.

Not with such crowd surrounded, nor so fair

In form, rode forth Semiramis of old, On chariot where she sat in ivory chair,

Beneath a sky of carbuncle and gold, When to Euphrates' banks to take the air,

Or her new-rising brick walls to behold, Abroad she drove, whilst round her wheels were

pour'd Satrap, and turban'd squire, and pursy Chaldee lord.



'Twas at the silent solemn hour,

When night and inorning 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 op'ning 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.

Awake! she cried, 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 ; 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 flatt'ring tale?

That face, alas! no more is fair,

Those lips no longer red :
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd 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 warn'd me hence;

A long and last adieu !

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