The day was spent the moon shone bright,
The village clock struck eight,
Young Mary hastened with delight,
Unto the Garden Gate;
But who was there to make her sad?
The gate was there but not the lad.
Which made young Mary sigh & say
Was there every poor girl so sad as I.

She traced the garden here and there,
The village clock struck nine,
Which made young Mary sigh & say
Thou shan't thou shan't be mine,
You promised to meet me at the gate at eight,
Thou never shall keep me or make me wait,
For I'll let all such creatures see,
You ne'er shall make a fool of me

She traced the garden here and there,
The village clock struck ten,
Young William caught her in his arms
No More to part again,
For he'd been to buy the ring that day
He had been such a long way,
The how could Mary cruel prove,
To banish the lad she so dearly loved

Up with the morning sun they rose,
To church they went away,
And all the village jopyful were,
Upon their wedding day,
Now in a cot by a river side,
William and Mary doth reside,
Now she blesses the night that she did wait
For her absent swain at the garden gate.

The day was clos'd, the moon shone bright,
The village clock struck eight,
When Sylvia hasten'd with delight
To open the garden gate;
But sure, as if to drive her mad,
The gate was there but not the lad.
Which made poor Sylvia, grieving, cry:
"Was ever maid so used as I?"

She pac'd the garden here and there,
The village clock struck nine,
When Sylvia cried in wild despair:
"He shan't, he shan't be mine!
Last night he vow'd the garden gate
Should find him here this eve at eight;
But this I'll let the creature see,
He ne'er shall make a fool of me."

She ceas'd--a noise her ear alarms,
The village clock struck ten,
When William caught her in his arms,
And ne'er to part again!
He shew'd the ring, to wed next day,
He'd been to buy a long, long way;
How then could Sylvia cruel prove,
To one that did so truly love her?

Ballad: THE GARDEN-GATE.

[One of our most pleasing rural ditties. The air is very beautiful. We first heard it sung in Malhamdale, Yorkshire, by Willy Bolton, an old Dalesâ??-minstrel, who accompanied himself on the union-pipes.]

The day was spent, the moon shone bright,
The village clock struck eight;
Young Mary hastened, with delight,
Unto the garden-gate:
But what was there that made her sad? -
The gate was there, but not the lad,
Which made poor Mary say and sigh,
'Was ever poor girl so sad as I?'

She traced the garden here and there,
The village clock struck nine;
Which made poor Mary sigh, and say,
'You shan't, you shan't be mine!
You promised to meet at the gate at eight,
You ne'er shall keep me, nor make me wait,
For I'll let all such creatures see,
They ne'er shall make a fool of me!'

She traced the garden here and there,
The village clock struck ten;
Young William caught her in his arms,
No more to part again:
For he'd been to buy the ring that day,
And O! he had been a long, long way; -
Then, how could Mary cruel prove,
To banish the lad she so dearly did love?

Up with the morning sun they rose,
To church they went away,
And all the village joyful were,
Upon their wedding-day:
Now in a cot, by a river side,
William and Mary both reside;
And she blesses the night that she did wait
For her absent swain, at the garden-gate.