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O weep not, Lady, weep not so;
Some ghostly comsort seek:.
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.
0 do not, do not,, holy Eri^r,
My sorrow now reprove.;
That e'er won lady's love.
And now, alas! sor thy. sad, loss,
For thee I only wish'd to live.
Weep no more, Lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain.:
Our joys as winged dreams do fly.
Since gries but aggravates thy- loss.
0 say not so, thpu hply Friar,
I pray thee, say not so,:
Tis meet my tears, should slow*.
And will he ne'er come again?
Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grav«.
For ever to remain.
His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he!— But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!
Sigh no more, Lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:
To one thing constant never.
Hadst thou been sond, he had been salse,
And lest thee sad and heavy;
Since summer trees were leasy.
Now say not so, thou holy Friar,
I pray thee say not so,
O he was ever true!
And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youthj
And didst thou die sor me?
A pilgrim iwill be.
But sirst upon my true-love's grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
That wraps his breathless elay.
Yet stay, sair Lady, rest a while
Beneath this cloyster wall: See, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,
And drizzly rain doth sall.
0 stay me not, thou holy Friar!
O stay me not I pray!
Can wash my sault away.
Yet stay, sair Lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
Thy own true-love appears.
Here sorc'd by gries, and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought; And here amid these lonely walls
To end my days I thought.
But haply, sor my year os grace
Is not yet past away,
No longer would I stay.
Now sarewel grief, arid welcome joy
Once more unto my hffrfrt:
We never more will part.
A T A L E.
BY WILLIAM MELMQTH, E S Sk
Ere Saturn's sons were yet disgrac'd,
He paus'd—when srom amidst the flcy.
Beside the road a mansion stood,
The dame who own'd, adorn'd the pl.ice Three blooming daughters added graee. The sirst, with gentlest manners blest, .. And temper sweet, each 1veart poi&st; Who view'd her, catch'd the tender stable; And soft Amasia was her name. In sprightly sense and polifll'd air, What maid with Mira might compare f While Lucia's eyej and Lucia's lyre, .Did um et; tied love inspire.