Page:Katharine Ogie.pdf/8

 Her lovely form was sweet to view,

As dawn at opening day;

But, ah! she mourn'd her love not true,

And wept her cares away.

The brook flow’d gently at her feet,

In murmurs smooth along;

Her pipe, which once she tun'd so sweet,

Had now forgot its song.

No more to charm the vale she tries,

For grief has fill'd her breast;

Fled are the joys she us'd to prize,

And fled with them her rest.

Poor hepless maid! who can behold

Thy anguish so severe,

Or bear thy love-lorn story told,

Without a pitying tear!

Maria, hapless maid, adieu!

Thy sorrows soon must cease;

Soon heaven will take a maid so true

To everlasting peace.