28
THE IMPROVISATRICE.
They buried them beneath that tree;
It long had been a sacred spot.
Soon it was planted round with flowers
By many who had not forgot;
Or yet lived in those dreams of truth,
The Eden birds of early youth,
That make the loveliness of love:
And called the place “The Maiden's Cove,”—
That she who perished in the sea
Might thus be kept in memory.
From many a lip came sounds of praise,
Like music from sweet voices ringing;
For many a boat had gathered round,
To list the song I had been singing.
There are some moments in our fate
That stamp the colour of our days;
