Glides a bark adown the river soft and slow,
bearing her whom Death forever hath laid low.
Fair in bridal robes she lieth, oh my heart!
when I call her, none replieth, deadly smart!

Let us on this flow'ry meadow dig her grave,
where the murm'ring beeches shadow o'er her wave.
Thou of maids the sweetest flower, slumber soft,
budding boughs shall snowy shower o'er her waft.

High above the headlands beating mounts the tide,
let me send thee one last greeting, oh my bride!
Homewards I my steps am bending, lone, bereft;
sorrow now my days attending, nought is left.

Hark, the reeds are whisp'ring low,
on my hearth the embers glow,
how couldst thou for sake me, oh my dove,
that I might awake thee! oh my love!