On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,
  And chilly was the midnight gloom,
When by the damp grave Ellen wept--
  Sweet maid! it was her Lindor's tomb!

A warm tear gushed, the wintry air,
  Congealed it as it flowed away:
All night it lay an ice-drop there,
  At morn it glittered in the ray.

An angel, wandering from her sphere,
  Who saw this bright, this frozen gem,
To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear
  And hung it on her diadem!