Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/118



yon bridge a maiden see,

She weeps—she weeps—how bitterly!

And lo! her lover passes by,

With proud and with reproachful eye.

"O come, on Sabbath morn to me,

And I will wreathe a wreath for thee."

Morn came—he came not to the maid,

And then the flowery wheath decay'd.

The rain rush'd-down—the flowrets died,

Because the youth his vow belied.

shines so brightly—

O I saw it shine,

I will pluck the floweret,

And it shall be mine.