AMANDA.
She rests within her peaceful grave,
Beneath th' o'ershadowing hill,
Where forest-trees their branches wave,
And flowers with perfume fill
The trembling air, that never sweeps
In tempests wildly there,
But breathes its requiem while she sleeps,
Like whisperings of prayer.
Beneath th' o'ershadowing hill,
Where forest-trees their branches wave,
And flowers with perfume fill
The trembling air, that never sweeps
In tempests wildly there,
But breathes its requiem while she sleeps,
Like whisperings of prayer.
There morning through the autumn trees
Sheds beams of fairest light;
Like hope, whose radiance never leaves
The stricken in his blight.
Her mem'ry thus doth shine for me
From its pure heaven of love:
All, all may fade, yet still will she
Speak from her home above.
Sheds beams of fairest light;
Like hope, whose radiance never leaves
The stricken in his blight.
Her mem'ry thus doth shine for me
From its pure heaven of love:
All, all may fade, yet still will she
Speak from her home above.