Thus have I seen a summer rose in all its beauty bloom,
When it has[24] shed its sweetness o’er a cold and lonely tomb.
She struck the harp, and when they praised her skill she turned aside,
A rebel tear of conscious woe[20] and memory to hide;
But when she raised her head she looked so[13] lovely, so serene,
To gaze in her proud eyes you’d think a tear had seldom been.
The humblest maid in rural life can[5] boast a happier fate
Than she, the beautiful and good, in all her rank and state;
For she was sacrificed,[20] alas! to cold and selfish pride
When her young lips had breathed the vow to be a soldier’s bride.