FOOTNOTES:
[437] To this circumstance it is owing that the editor has never met with two copies, in which the stanzas are arranged alike, he has therefore thrown them into what appeared the most natural order. The verses are properly long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made it necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed with many improvements.
[438] [blow.]
[439] Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford.
[440] A butcher that then served the college.
[441] A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling cow-heel and tripe.
[442] The drum.
[443] Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford.
[444] A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford.
[445] Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the beginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a Ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102. London, 1713.
[446] It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent that this was a popular subject at that time:—
Not carted bawd, or Dan de Foe,
In wooden ruff ere bluster'd so.
Smith's Poems, p. 117
[447] [perhaps a contraction of windhover, a kind of hawk.]
[448] See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's Hist. of Oxfordshire.
[449] Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the university of Oxford.
[450] Hannibal had but one eye.
[451] A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as well as play on them; well known at that time in Oxford.
[452] The name of St. George's sword.
XVI.
MARGARET'S GHOST.
This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted above in page [124], which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost.
"These lines, says he, naked of ornament and simple, as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago."
The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz.
"When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep," &c.
In a late publication, intitled, The Friends, &c. Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo. (in the first volume, p. 71) is inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with very great variations, which the editor of that work contends was the original; and that Mallet adopted it for his own and altered it, as here given.—But the superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy, gives it so much more the air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own taste; than which nothing is more common in popular songs and ballads.
[This ballad, more generally known as William and Margaret, is supposed to have been printed for the first time in Aaron Hill's Plain Dealer (No. 36, July 24, 1724), when the author was a very young man. Hill introduced it to the reader as the work of an old poet, and wrote, "I am sorry I am not able to acquaint my readers with his name to whom we owe this melancholy piece of finished poetry under the humble title of a ballad." In the following month the editor announced that "he had discovered the author to be still alive." The verses were probably written in 1723, in the August of which year Mallet left Scotland, for Allan Ramsay, in his Stanzas to Mr. David Mallock on his departure from Scotland, alludes to them:—
"But he that could, in tender strains,
Raise Margaret's plaining shade,
And paints distress that chills the veins,
While William's crimes are red."
The ballad at once became popular, and was printed in several collections, undergoing many alterations for the worse by the way. Sundry attempts were made to rob Mallet of the credit of his song. Besides the one mentioned above by Percy, Captain Thompson, the editor of Andrew Marvell's Works, claimed it for Marvell, but this claim was even more ridiculous than those he set up against Addison and Watts. Although Mallet doubtless knew the ballads Fair Margaret and Sweet William (book ii. No. 4) and Sweet William's Ghost (No. 6), he is said to have founded his own upon a true story which came under his observation. A daughter of Professor James Gregory of St. Andrews, and afterwards of Edinburgh, was seduced by a son of Sir William Sharp of Strathyrum, who had promised to marry her, but heartlessly deserted her.
The ballad has been extravagantly praised: Ritson observes, "It may be questioned whether any English writer has produced so fine a ballad as William and Margaret." Percy describes it as one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any other language; and Allan Ramsay writes, "I know not where to seek a finer mixture of pathos and terror in the whole range of Gothic romance." Scott, on the other hand, was of opinion that "The ballad, though the best of Mallet's writing, is certainly inferior to the original, which I presume to be the very fine and terrific old Scottish tale, beginning
'There came a ghost to Margaret's door.'"
The extreme popularity of the poem is seen by the various parodies, one of which, Watty and Madge, is printed in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany (vol. iii.). It commences—
"'Twas at the shining mid-day hour,"
and each succeeding verse is parodied in the same manner. Vincent Browne imitated the original in Latin verse, and a German version was published as Wilhelm und Gretchen.
Mallet was a native of Crieff in Perthshire, and is believed to have been born in the year 1702. He was sometime tutor to the Montrose family, through whose influence he was introduced into public life. He changed his name from Malloch to Mallet when he settled in London, and in 1742 he was appointed Under Secretary to the Prince of Wales. He died on the 21st of April, 1765. Mallet is a writer little cared for now, but he can hardly be said to be neglected, for in 1857 Mr. Frederick Dinsdale published an illustrated edition of his Ballads and Songs, chiefly made up of copious notes on William and Margaret and Edwin and Emma.]
'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, 5
Clad in a wintry cloud:
And clay-cold was her lily hand,
That held her sable shrowd.
So shall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown: 10
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, 15
Just opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker worm,
Consum'd her early prime:
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time. 20
"Awake!" she cry'd, "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, 25
When injur'd ghosts complain;
Now yawning graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swain.
"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge, and broken oath: 30
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 mine eyes were bright, 35
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? 40
"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; 45
These 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: 50
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!
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55
Who dy'd for love of you."
The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd,
With beams of rosy red:
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb,
And raving left his bed. 60
He hyed him to the fatal place,
Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretch'd him on the grass-green turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay:
And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 65
And thrice he wept full sore:
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.
XVII.
LUCY AND COLIN
Was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq. the celebrated friend of Mr. Addison, and editor of his works. He was son of a clergyman in the north of England, had his education at Queen's college, Oxon, was under secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of state; and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 1740.[453] He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond, written while he was at the University.
It is a tradition in Ireland, that the song was written at Castletown, in the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. Conolly—probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood.
[Gray called Lucy and Colin "the prettiest" ballad in the world, although he was not partial to Tickell's other poems.
The fine old melody given by Dr. Rimbault for this ballad is taken from "The Merry Musician; or a Cure for the Spleen; being a collection of the most diverting Songs and pleasant Ballads set to Musick," 1716.]
Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face.
Till luckless love, and pining care 5
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend? 10
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15
Ye perjured swains, beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing. 20
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
That solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.
"I hear a voice, you cannot hear, 25
Which says I must not stay:
I see a hand, you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.
"By a false heart, and broken vows,
In early youth I die. 30
Am I to blame, because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?
"Ah Colin! give not her thy vows;
Vows due to me alone:
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35
Nor think him all thy own.
"To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient, both prepare;
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there, 40
"Then, bear my corse; ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet."
She spoke, she dy'd;—her corse was borne, 45
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept? 50
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair
At once his bosom swell:
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
From the vain bride (ah bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead. 60
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.
Oft at their grave the constant hind 65
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear; 70
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.