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I passed her by, yet on my ear
Her bird-like voice came ringing after;
I little thought, a struggling tear,
Was lost amid its silvery laughter.
Her bird-like voice came ringing after;
I little thought, a struggling tear,
Was lost amid its silvery laughter.
He came too late—in days of old,
When by her side he loved to wander,
And time that makes the heart grow cold,
But served to make his bosom fonder,
That heart, in which he seemed to live,
Was yielded up with bashful pleasure,
And though 't was all she had to give,
That heart was in itself, a treasure;
He left her—'mid the vain and great
He never found so fair a blossom;
He came at last, but O! too late—
She slept within her Saviour's bosom.
When by her side he loved to wander,
And time that makes the heart grow cold,
But served to make his bosom fonder,
That heart, in which he seemed to live,
Was yielded up with bashful pleasure,
And though 't was all she had to give,
That heart was in itself, a treasure;
He left her—'mid the vain and great
He never found so fair a blossom;
He came at last, but O! too late—
She slept within her Saviour's bosom.
Strange that the love-lorn heart will beat
With rapture wild amid its folly—
No grief so soft, no pain so sweet
As love's delicious melancholy.
And thus, though life and hope grew dim,
She nursed the flame she could not smother;
It seemed more sweet to die for him
Than live the worshipped of another.
And did Contentment fold its wing
Around his heart while hers was riven?
With rapture wild amid its folly—
No grief so soft, no pain so sweet
As love's delicious melancholy.
And thus, though life and hope grew dim,
She nursed the flame she could not smother;
It seemed more sweet to die for him
Than live the worshipped of another.
And did Contentment fold its wing
Around his heart while hers was riven?
