Bid sorrow cease; she rests in peace—
Her task, at last, is done;
And decked with youth, and bright with truth,
Cold lies thy martyred one.
But thine the crime, and through all time,
Remorse shall follow thee,
With phantom form, through calm and storm,
On land and on the sea.
Her shadowy hair, her bosom fair,
So often heaving sighs;