Dirge Over A Nameless Grave

By yon still river, where the wave Is winding slow at evening's close, The beech, upon a nameless grave, Its sadly-moving shadow throws. O'er the fair woods the sun looks down Upon the many-twinkling leaves, And twilight's mellow shades are brown, Where darkly the green turf upheaves. The river glides in silence there, And hardly waves the sapling tree: Sweet flowers are springing, and the air Is full of balm,-- but where is she! They bade her wed a son of pride, And leave the hope she cherished long: She loved but one,-- and would not hide A love which knew no wrong. And months went sadly on,-- and years:-- And she was wasting day by day: At length she died, -- and many tears Were shed, that she should pass away. Then came a gray old man, and knelt With bitter weeping by her tomb:-- And others mourned for him, who felt That he had sealed a daughter's doom. The funeral train has long past on, And time wiped dry the father's tear! Farewell -- lost maiden! -- there is one That mourns thee yet -- and he is here.