But, alas! that return I never shall see:
The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim,
There promised a lover to come—but, ah me!
'Twas Death—'twas the death of my mistress that came.
But ever, for ever, her image shall last,
I'll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom;
On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the new blossom'd thorn shall whiten her tomb."
SONG—BY A WOMAN.
Pastorale.