Mina.
79
But the wreath of May is finished, And Mina she is gone,She has left the lowly door-step— By the sea she stands alone.
But mark, she has dipped the garland In the bosom of the deep,The parting wave has drenched it, The salt tears o'er it weep.
The sea o'er the garland closes, The moaning restless sea,And the flowers of love have perished— Culled only yesterday.
But silver chimes from another land, Tell of a brighter shore,Where storms of life are lulled to rest For Mina evermore.
