PARTING OF THE BRIDE.
Sweetest of maidens! O be still,
Be silent—prithee weep not now,
Thy mother she will weep—wilt fill
Her sorrowing eyes with tears, for thou
Wilt leave thy cherish’d home ere long:
And when thy young companions go
To the fresh stream, amidst the throng
She’ll seek thee—will she find thee? No!