"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,

Thy pledge of broken truth,
See the sad lesson thou hast taught
To unsuspecting youth.

"Why did you first o'erprize my charms,
Yet all those charms forsake!
Why sigh'd you for my virgin heart,
Then left it thus to break.

Such are the general outlines of the case, as stated by Mallet to have furnished him with materials for the composition of William and Margaret, and we could scarcely suppose any more complicated and melancholy. They present us with an example of insiduous unrelenting treachery, practised on the credulity of unsuspecting innocence, aggravated by the prostitution of feeling and honour, and productive of sufferings inconceivably severe. The question is, how far does the poem and the narration coincide ?—what correspondence is there between the several important points contained in this detail, and those to which the poet directs our attention in the produc tion before us?

And here the discrepancy is obvious and striking. In William and Margaret we have only the two lovers brought forward to view, without any reference to the father-The general affair of courtship is simply alluded to, without even a hint respecting unwarrantable intercourse. Margaret only blames William with having forsaken her, contrary to his tender and solemn engagements, but never makes the most distant allusion to any unkind or abusive insinuations. She never reminds him of the infamy which had been indelibly stamped on her name by his artifice and infidelity-of the grief and shame which was thereby entailed on her aged parent, and, above all, of the cruel sacrifice which his unmerited treatment had wantonly made of his own child.

These are the principal points in which the poem and the narration now before us evidently differ, and this difference necessarily obliges us to adopt one of the following conclusions. We must either acknowledge that Mallet's claims are altogether spurious and unfounded, or that he has acquitted

"Why did you present pledge such vows,

And none in absence keep?

Why said you that my eyes were bright,
Yet taught them thus to weep?

"Why did you praise my blushing lips,
Yet make their scarlet pale!
And why, alas, did I, fond maid,
Believe the flattering tale?

himself in a very superficial and defective manner, considering the scope which the story presented. The account which he has transmitted is in all respects so exceedingly striking, and involves such an accumulation of incident, that we will scarcely find one more fertile or better calculated for the display of genius, yet the principal topics are so totally overlooked in

the

poem which we are considering, that we cannot suppose them to have been known to the original author. There is, indeed, so little obvious correspondence between the two, that it is utterly impossible to believe that the one could be composed with the slightest view to commemorate the other.

We are well aware that it may be objected to this mode of reasoning, that a poet is not expected implicitly to adhere to all the particular incidents The concontained in his story. To this we readily and fully subscribe. trary, indeed, would be both injudicious and unwarrantable. It would impose a restraint on every power and activity of the mind, which all the efforts of genius could neither supply nor overcome. Accordingly we find that poets have always claimed, and are universally allowed an unbounded licence, extending even to the regions of probability and fiction. We would, however, think meanly of that author, and of his performance, though excellent in its kind, which, instead of exhausting or even answering up to the spirit of the subject, had only introduced a few of the more trifling occurrences, without so much as hinting at those which afforded the freest scope both for conception and expression. From the whele, we think we may safely affirm that he who possessed ability to compose William and Margaret, had he been acquainted with the story which Mallet records, and attempted to perpetuate it,

"But now my face no more is fair,

My lips retain no red;

Fix'd are my eyes in Death's still glare,
And love's vain hope is fled.

"The hungry worm my partner is,
The winding sheet my dress;
A long and weary night must pass
Ere heaven allow redress.

"But hark! 'tis day; the darkness flies,
Take one long last adieu;
Come see, false man, how low she lies
Who died for loving you.

The birds sang out, the morning smil'd,
And streak'd the sky with red,

Pale William shook in every limb,
And started from his bed.

Weeping he sought the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay,

And stretch'd him o'er the green-grass turf,

That veil'd her breathless clay.

must have produced an exhibition in all respects as much superior to the poem as it now stands, as it must be allowed to excel the most insignifi

cant sonnet,

Thrice call'd unheard on Margaret's name, And thrice sore wept her fate,

Then laid his cheek on her cold grave,

And died, and lov'd too late.

LXXXIV.

JAMIE O' THE GLEN.

Auld Rob, the laird o' muckle land,
To woo me was na very blate,
But spite o' a' his gear he fand
He came to woo a day owre late.

A lad sae blythe, sae fu' o' glee,
My heart did never ken',
And nane can gie sic joy to me
As Jamie o' the glen.

My minnie grat like daft, and rair'd,
To gar me wi' her will comply,

But still I wadna hae the laird,

Wi' a' his ousen, sheep, and kye.

A lad sae blythe, &c.

Ah, what are silks and satins braw?
What's a' his wardly gear to me?
They're daft that cast themsels awa,
Where nae content or love can be.
A lad sae blythe, &c.

I cou'd na bide the silly clash

Came hourly frae the gawky laird!
And sae, to stop his gab and fash,
Wi' Jamie to the kirk repair'd.
A lad sae blythe, &c.

Now ilka summer's day sae lang,

And winter's clad wi' frost and snaw,

A tunefu' lilt and bonny sang

Aye keep dull care and strife awą,
A lad sae blythe, &c,

LXXXV.

THE BASHFU' WOOER.

AIR-Dainty Davy.

Whene'er ye come to woo me, Tam,

Dinna at the window tap,

Or cough, or hem, or gie a clap,

To let my father hear, man: