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.