That song doth cause my tears to flow,
My care-worn heart to mourn;
It calls to mind the days gone by,
That never can return
It tells of hopes that brightly shone,
When life was in its spring,
And love made earth a paradise,
And life a charmed thing.
When joy lit up the face with smiles,
And played the heart along;
And she I loved so fervently,
Was wont to sing that song!
I bear those old, familiar words,
And listen to that air,
Until my bosom's finest chords,
A mournful echo are:
I've sat beneath the forest tree,
That shades the humble cot,
Where dwelt my love, to hear her sing;
How changed is now my lot:
The tree, the cot, are standing still,
Where they have stood so long;
But she is sleeping in the grave,
That used to sing that song!
First published in The Argus, 1 September 1851
