And standing by her side, was one, who strove, and not in vain,
To soothe her leaving that dear home she ne’er might view again.
I saw her but a moment, yet methinks I see her now,
With a wreath of orange blossoms upon her snowy brow.
And once again I saw that brow, no bridal wreath was there,
The widow’s sombre cap concealed her once luxuriant hair;
She weeps in silent solitude, for there is no one near,
To press her hand within his own, and wipe away the tear!
I see her broken-hearted, and methinks I see her now,
In the pride of youth and beauty, with a wreath upon her brow.