She weeps, and weeps for thee.
With early dawn thou hiedst away,
In reckless sports the hours to while,
Oh! sweet as flowers, in moonlit ray,
Shall be thy look, thy voice, thy smile,
When again she looks on thee!
Oh! come, come then with me.”
Scarce ceased the strain, when silence deep,
As broods o’er an unbroken sleep,
Seemed hovering round; then slowly came