Blue-birds, linger her awhile, 
O'er this sacred grassy pile, 
Sing your sweetest songs to me 
'Tis the grave of Eulalie. 

Roses white, around her tomb 
Gently wave and sweetly bloom, 
Let your silent language be 
"We will bloom for Eulalie.” 

Streamlet, chanting at her feet 
Mournful music, sad and sweet, 
Wake her not she dreams of me 
'Neath the yew tree, Eulalie! 

Eulalie, but yester-night, 
Came a spirit veiled in white; 
I knew it could be none but thee, 
Bride of Death, lost Eulalie. 

Angels, guard her with your wings, 
Shield her from unholy things, 
Bid her dream love-dreams of me, 
Till I come, sleep, Eulalie! 

Blue-birds, linger here awhile, 
O'er this sacred grassy pile, 
Sing your sweetest songs to me 
'Tis the grave of Eulalie.