Mary, I know my steps should now be shrinking From this sad spot—but on my mournful gaze A scene floats up that sets my soul to thinking On all the dear delights of other days! I’m gazing on the little foot-bridge yonder Thrown o’er the stream whose waters purl below, Where I so oft have seen thee pause and ponder, Leaning thy white brow on thy hand of snow. I’m standing on the spot where last we parted, Where, as I left thee in the fragrant dell, I saw thee turn so oft—half broken-hearted— Waving thy hand in token of farewell. I start to meet thy footstep light and airy— But—the cold grass waves o’er thy sweet young head; Would that the shroud that wraps thy fair form, Mary, Wrapped mine instead! In vain my heart its bitter thoughts would parry, An adder’s grasp about its chords seem curled, For you were all I ever thought of, Mary— Were all I doted on in this wide world! And yet, I’d sigh not while thy fate I ponder, Did memory only bring thee to my eyes Pale as thou sleepest in the church-yard yonder— Or as an angel dazzling from the skies! I then at least could treasure each sweet token Of thy pure love—and in life’s mad’ning whirl Steel my crushed heart—had not thine own been broken, Poor hapless girl!