Whose lovely lives on earth we prized the most,
And most assuaged the pangs of thronging woes,
Which—oh how oft! our fated paths have cross'd,
By all are ever mourned, "the loved and early lost."
So Rolfe's dear spouse was early snatched away,—
But left one pledge of her undying love—
(Perchance her happy spirit oft would stray
Round their dear footsteps wheresoe'er they rove)
And Europe's turf grow green her heart above.
No more could grief or joy disturb her breast.