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Here bore him barefac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall.

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!
And didst thou dye for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!

O weep not, lady, weep not soe;
Some ghostly comfort seek:

Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,

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And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,

I'll evermore weep and sigh;

For thee I only wisht to live,

For thee I wish to dye.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

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Thy sorrowe is in vaine :

For violets pluckt the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make grow againe.

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Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,

Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy losse,

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For since my true-love dyed for mee, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

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And will he ne'er come again?

Will he ne'er come again?

Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,

For ever to remain.

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His cheek was redder than the rose;

The comliest youth was he!—

But he is dead and laid in his grave:

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Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,

And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,

Since summer trees were leafy.

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And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,

And didst thou dye for mee?

Then farewell home; for ever-more

A pilgrim I will bee.

But first upon my true-loves grave

My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,

That wraps his breathless clay.

Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile

Beneath this cloyster wall:

See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,

And drizzly rain doth fall.

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And dry those pearly tears;

For see beneath this gown of gray

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Thy owne true-love appears.

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,

These holy weeds I sought;

And here amid these lonely walls

To end my days I thought.

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Might I still hope to win thy love,

No longer would I stay.

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Now farewell grief, and welcome joy

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Once more unto my heart;

For since I have found thee, lovely youth,

We never more will part.

*The year of probation, or noviciate.

As the foregoing song has been thought to have suggested to our late excellent poet Dr. Goldsmith, the plan of his beautiful ballad of Edwin and Emma, (first printed in his Vicar of Wakefield,) it is but justice to his memory to declare, that his poem was written first, and that if there is any imitation in the case, they will be found both to be indebted to the beautiful old ballad, Gentle Herdsman, &c., printed in the second volume of this work, which the Doctor had much admired in manuscript, and has finely improved. See vol. ii. book i. song xiv. ver. 37, &c.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK.

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The more Modern Ballad of Cheby Chace.

Ar the beginning of this volume we gave the old original song of CHEVY-CHASE. The reader has here the more improved edition of that fine heroic ballad. It will afford an agreeable entertainment to the curious to compare them together, and to see how far the latter bard has excelled his predecessor, and where he has fallen short of him. For though he has every where improved the ver

VOL. I.

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