Thy Edward from his peaceful rest
Shall ne'er return again.

"A treach'rous friend has brought me low,
And fix'd my early doom;
And laid my corpse, with feigned woe,
Beneath a vaulted tomb

"To take thee to my home I sware,
And here we were to meet:
Wilt thou a narrow coffin share,
And part my winding-sheet?

"But late the lord of many lands,
And now a grave is all:
My blood is warm upon his hands
Who revels in my hall.

"Yet think thy father's hoary hair
Is water'd with his tears;
He has but thee to sooth his care,
And prop his load of years.

"Remember Edward when he's gone,
He only liv'd for thee;
And when thou'rt pensive, and alone,
O Marg'ret call on me!

"Yet deep beneath the mould'ring clod
I rest my wounded head: