My girl, forget thine earthly woe, And think on God and blifs; "Go out, go out, my lamp of life; And fo defpaire did rave and rage She bet her breafte, and wrung her hands, From rife of morne, till the pale ftars When harke! abroadé fhe hearde the trampe Of nimble-hoofed fteed; She hearde a knighte with clank alight, And climb the ftaire in speede. And foon the herde a tinkling hande, And thro' her door, that open'd not, "What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe; My love, doft yet remember mee, And doft thou laugh or weep?" "Ah! William here fo late at night! "At midnight only we may ride; I come o'er land and fea: I mounted late, but foone I Aryfe, and come with me." go; "O William, enter first my bowre, And give me one embrace: The blafts athwarte the hawthorne hifs; Awayte a little space." "The "The blafts athwarte the hawthorn hifs, My fpurve is fharpe, my courfer pawes, All as thou lyeft upon thy couch, "How, ride to-night a thousand miles? Rings on within the clocke." "Looke up; the moone is bright, and w Outftride the earthlie men: I'll take thee to the bridal bed, And night fhall end but then." "And where is, then, thy houfe and home; And where thy bridal bed?" "Tis narrow, filent, chilly, dark Far hence I reft my head." k; "And is there any room for mee, Wherein that I may creepe," "There's room enough for thee and mee, Wherein that wee may fleepe. All as thou ly'ft upon thy couch, The wedding guefts thy coming waite, The chamber dore is ope." All in her farke, as there fhe lay, And hurry-fkurry forth they go, Unheeding wet or dry; And horfe and rider fnort and blow, And sparkling pebbles fly. How fwift the flood, the mead, the wood, Aright, aleft, are gone! The bridges thunder as they pass, But earthlie Towne is none. Tramp, tramp, acrofs the land they speede; Splash, fplath, across the fee; "Hurrah! the dead can ride apace; Doft feare to ride with mee? The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte; Doft quake the blaft to ftem? Doft fhudder, mayde, to feeke the dead?" How glumlie fownes yon dirgye fong! Like croke of todes from lonely moores, Go, bear her corfe when midnight's paft, Lead forth, O clarke, the chaunting quire, Come, priefte, and reade the bleffing foone; They heede his calle, and hufht the fowne; And followde him ore feeld and flood Hallo! hallo! away they goe, And horfe and rider fnort and blowe, How swifte the hill, how swifte the dale, Aright, aleft, are gone! By hedge and tree, by thorpe and towne, Tramp, tramp, across the land they speede; Doft fear to ride with mee? Look up, look up, an airy crewe In roundel daunces reele: The moone is bryghte, and blue the nyghte, Mayft dimlie fee them wheele. Come to, come to, ye goftlie crew, Come to, and follow mee, And daunce for us the wedding daunce, When we in bed fhall be." And And brush, brush, brush, the ghoftlie crew, And horfe and rider fnort and blowe, And all that in the moonfhyne lay, And backwarde fcudded overhead Tramp, tramp, across the lande they speede, Doft fear to ride with mee? apace; I weene the cock prepares to crowe; Downe, downe! our work is done, And lo! an yren-grated gate Soon biggens to their viewe: He crackte his whyppe; the clangynge boltes, They pass, and 'twas on graves they trode; ""Tis hither we are bounde:" And many a tombstone goftlie white And when hee from his fteede alytte, His head became a naked fcull; His body grew a fkeleton, And att his drye and boney heele No fpur was left to be; And inn his witherde hande you might fee. And lo! his fteede did thin to smoke, And charnel fires outbreathe; And pal'd, and bleach'd, then vanish'd quite And hollow howlings hung in aire, And fhrekes from vaults arofe. Then knew the mayde the mighte no more But onwarde to the judgement-feat, The goftlie crewe their flyghte perfewe, And hollowe inn her eare: "Be patient; tho' thyne herte fhoulde breke, Arrayne not Heven's decree; Thou nowe art of thie bodie refte, Thie foule forgiven bee!" Mr. SURREBUTTER's commencement in his legal career. From the PLEADERS GUIDE, a Didactic Poem in two books. W HOE'ER has drawn a Special Plea, Has heard of old TOM TEWKESBURY, Deaf as a poft, and thick as Muftard, He aim'd at Wit, and bawl'd and blufter'd, That Genius was my SPECIAL PLEADER: By HAWK and BUZZARD recommended, To pluck the Goofe, and drive the Quill; Of both I wath'd my hands; and though |