LINESTo the Tune of “Oh! Lady fair! where art thou going?”Sing, bird of grief! still eve descending,And soothe a mind with sorrow rending;Ne’er may I see the blush of morrow,But close this night the sigh of sorrow;Then, if some wand’rer here directedShall find my mossy grave neglected,May he replace the weed that’s growingWith the nearest flow’r that’s blowing!
To the Tune of “Oh! Lady fair! where art thou going?”
Sing, bird of grief! still eve descending,And soothe a mind with sorrow rending;Ne’er may I see the blush of morrow,But close this night the sigh of sorrow;Then, if some wand’rer here directedShall find my mossy grave neglected,May he replace the weed that’s growingWith the nearest flow’r that’s blowing!