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 They buried them beneath that tree; It long had been a sacred spot. Soon it was planted round with flowers By many who had not forgot; Or yet lived in those dreams of truth, The Eden birds of early youth, That make the loveliness of love: And called the place “,”— That she who perished in the sea Might thus be kept in memory.

  From many a lip came sounds of praise, Like music from sweet voices ringing; For many a boat had gathered round, To list the song I had been singing. There are some moments in our fate That stamp the colour of our days; 