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THE PROPHECY.
The torrent of sorrow, the sea of grief,
The rushing waves of a wretched life.
Thy bosom's bark on the surge I see,
And, maiden, thy loved one is there with thee.
Not a star in the heavens, not a light on the wave!
Maiden, I've gazed on thine early grave.
When I am cold, and the hand of Death
Hath crowned my brow with an icy wreath,
When the dew hangs damp on this motionless lip,
When this eye is closed in its long last sleep,
Then, maiden, pause, when thy heart beats high,
And think on my last sad prophecy.
The rushing waves of a wretched life.
Thy bosom's bark on the surge I see,
And, maiden, thy loved one is there with thee.
Not a star in the heavens, not a light on the wave!
Maiden, I've gazed on thine early grave.
When I am cold, and the hand of Death
Hath crowned my brow with an icy wreath,
When the dew hangs damp on this motionless lip,
When this eye is closed in its long last sleep,
Then, maiden, pause, when thy heart beats high,
And think on my last sad prophecy.
