139
LINES.
She kneels by the grave where her lover sleeps;
With a cypress and rose she has crown'd it;
And there her lonely vigil keeps,
While the moonlight beams surround it,
Her hair is loose to the chill night gale;
No more with spring flowers she'll braid it:
Her dark eye is dim, her cheek is pale—
Sorrow can swiftly fade it.
