Page:Bridal bed.pdf/2



was a maid of low degree

sat on her true love's grave,

And with her tears most piteously

the green turf she did lave;

She strew'd the flower, she pluck'd the weed,

and show'rs of tears she shed;

Sweet turf, she cried, by fate decreed

to be my bridal bed.

I've set thee, flower, for that the flower

of manhood lieth here;

And water'd thee with plenteous shower

of many a briny tear.

And still she cried, Oh stay my love,

my true love, stay for me:

Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed,

and I will follow thee.

I pluck'd thee, weed, for that no weed

did in his bosom grow;

But sweetest flowers, from virtue's seed,

did there spontaneous blow:

But ah! their beautecus tints no more

Their balmy fragrance shed;

And I must strew this meaner flow'r,

To deck my bridal bed.

Sweet turf, thy green more green appears,

Tears make thy verdure grow;

Then still I'll water three with my tears;

That thus profusely flow.