A lovely maiden, with blue eye meek;
But her youthful bloom, how it faded away!
Her heart was in heaven, she might not stay:
And we looked at an infant that lay on the breast,
A mother’s pride, and it sank to rest!
We stood by the cot of a widowed dame;
Life’s feeble embers gave out their last flame:
At the hut of a slave we stepped gently in;
With pity Death looked on his frame so thin,
And his face, as he watched at the old man’s bed,