Page:Bohemian legends and other poems.djvu/175

 Bridesmaids with wax candles follow, Weeping—music sad and hollow,
 * Sung in accents cold and clear,
 * “Misserere, sleep in peace!”

Who with myrtle wreath is sleeping,
 * In the coffin’s narrow space?”

Dead, oh dead, and past all weeping— "Fairest lily of her race, Blooming like a cherished flower, Till cut in an evil hour, "Poor, poor, beautiful Mary!

Terrible cold! on the window is frost,
 * But in the room beside the stove, is warm.

By the fire’s blaze granny sits and nods,
 * And again the maidens spin through the storm.

Spin around, whirl around, spinning wheel mine,
 * Advent is nearing, and rest will be thine.

For soon, for oh soon will be Christmas time.

Ah, thou Christmas evening,
 * Filled with mystic awe,

When I think upon thee,
 * My heart beats with awe.

We were sitting spinning,
 * As we sit to-day,

But a year has rolled by—
 * Two have gone away.

One is sitting sewing,
 * Baby shirts I ween.

Three months Mary sleepest,
 * In the graveyard green.

We were sitting spinning,
 * As we sit to-day.

Ere the year be finished,
 * Will we meet, I say?