And many a silvery moon-beam pale,
Can witness that the flight of years
Stayed not affection's truest tears.
Three summers, with their flowers, had cheered,
And winter's snow as oft appeared;
'Twas said that our beloved would come
Once more to his paternal home.
The grape-vine o'er our cottage door
Put out its glist'ning leaves once more;
Fair flowers looked smiling from the ground—