By yon still river, where the wave
   Is winding slow at evening's close,
The beech, upon a nameless grave,
   Its sadly-moving shadow throws.

O'er the fair woods the sun looks down
   Upon the many-twinkling leaves,
And twilight's mellow shades are brown,
   Where darkly the green turf upheaves.

The river glides in silence there,
   And hardly waves the sapling tree:
Sweet flowers are springing, and the air
   Is full of balm, - but where is she!

They bade her wed a son of pride,
   And leave the hope she cherished long:
She loved but one, - and would not hide
   A love which knew no wrong.

And months went sadly on, - and years:-
   And she was wasting day by day:
At length she died, - and many tears
   Were shed, that she should pass away.

Then came a gray old man, and knelt
   With bitter weeping by her tomb:-
And others mourned for him, who felt
   That he had sealed a daughter's doom.

The funeral train has long past on,
   And time wiped dry the father's tear!
Farewell - lost maiden! - there is one
   That mourns thee yet - and he is here.