POET RY. [497 
Her mother ran and lyfte her up, 
And clasped in her arme, 
©© My child, my child, what dost thou ail? 
God shield thy lite from harm !”? ¥ 
“* © mother, mother, William’s gone! 
- What’s all besydes to me? 
There is no mercye, sure, above! 
All, all were spar’d but hee !”’ 
‘© Knell downe, thy paternoster saye, 
*T will calm thy troubled spright : 
The Lord is wyse, the Lord is good ; 
What hee hath done is right.’’ 
** O mother, mother! say not so; 
Most cruel is my fate : 
i prayde, and prayde; but watte avayl’d? 
*Tis now, alas! too late.’’ 
“* Our Heav’nly Father, if we praye, 
Will help a suff’ring childe : 
Go take the holy sacrament ; 
So shall thy grief grow milde.”” 
“* O mother, what I feel within, 
No sacrament can staye ; 
No sacrament can teche the dead 
To bear the sight of daye.”’ 
“* May be, among the heathen folk 
Thy William f2Jse doth prove, 
And puts away his faith and troth, 
And takes another love. - 
Then wherefore sorrow for his loss ? 
Thy moans are all in vain: 
And when his soul and body parte, 
His falsehode brings him paine,’’ 
** O mother, mother! gone is gone: 
My hope is all forlorne : 
The grave mie onlye safeguarde is— 
O, had I ne’er been borne ! 
Go out, go out, my lampe of life ; ’ 
In grislie darkness die : 
There is no mercye, sure above! 
For ever let me die.’’ 
** Almighty God! O do not judge 
My poor unhappy child ; 
She knows not what her lips pronounce, 
Her anguish makes her wilde. 
Vor. XXXVILL, © Kk My 
