How strange that in her speaking eye, no tear is seen to start!
She whispers to the friend she leaves, “O, watch my husband well,
And if he ask you where I am, ah me! you need not tell—
But say that I’ll return again, on eager wings of love—
That I have sought a resting place, within our fav’rite grove.
A resting place—a resting place! little did I dream
When last we wandered there, ’twould be a resting place for him—
For thee, my boy! my peerless boy! who gambol’d at my side;
O, would to God! my son! my son! that I for thee had died!
Hush—hush—my fond maternal heart! and let thy treasure go;