No. XLVIII.

SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.

From Allan Ramsay's "Tea-table Miscellany."

THERE came a Ghost to Margaret's door, With many a grievous grone,

"Or is't my brother John?

"Or is't my true love Willie,

"From Scotland new come home?"

-"'Tis not thy father Philip;

"Nor yet thy brother John:

"But 'tis thy true love Willie

"From Scotland new come home.

"O sweet Margret! O dear Margret! " I pray thee speak to mee:

"Give me my faith and troth, Margret,

"As I gave it to thee."

-"Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,

"Of me shalt nevir win,

"Till that thou come within

my bower,

"And kiss my cheek and chin.”.

-"If I should come within thy bower,

"I am no earthly man:

“And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,

pray thee speak to mee:

"Give me my faith and troth, Margret, "As I gave it to thee."

66

Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,

"Of me shalt nevir win,

Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,

" And wed me with a ring.".

My bones are buried in a kirk yard

"Afar beyond the sea,

"And it is but my sprite, Margret,

"That's speaking now to thee."

She stretched out her lilly-white hand,

As for to do her best:

-"Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, "God send your soul good rest."—

Now she has kilted her robes of green,
A piece below her knee:
And a' the live-lang winter night

The dead corpse followed shee.

-"Is there any room at your head, Willie? "Or any room at your feet?

"Or any room at your side, Willie,

“ Wherein that I may creep?"—

"There's nae room at my head, Margret,

"There's nae room at my feet,

"There's no room at my side, Margret,

Then up

and crew the red red cock,

And up then crew the gray :

"Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margret, "That I were gane away."—

No more the Ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous grone,

Evanish'd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.

"O stay, my only true love, stay,"

The constant Margret cried :

Wan

grew

her cheeks, she clos'd her een,

Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.

No. XLIX.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

From "Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry."

IN Carleile dwelt King Arthur,
A prince of passing might;

And there maintain'd his table round,
Beset with many a knight.

And there he kept his Christmas
With mirth and princely cheare,

When, lo! a straunge and cunning boy

A kirtle, and a mantle,

This boy had him upon,

With brooches, rings, and owches,

Full daintily bedone.