The chaplets that the young girls bring.
All’s gone! except these gushing tears,
Sad relics of the joyous past,
The shrines that memory uprears
To shield the incense from the blast.
Some sleep beneath the ocean’s wave,
Some ’neath the flowers that loved ones tend,
Others have found an early grave
Where stranger skies above them bend,
And she, the cherished one, she sleeps