LITTLE TILLIE'S GRAVE.
'Tis midnight gliding on her deep, dark wings.
And the wind o'er my gentle Tillie sighs,
And my poor heart trembles like the banjo strings
That I'm tumming near the hillock where she lies.
Weep, zephyrs, weep, in the midnight deep.
Where the cypress and the vine sadly wave;
I have taken down my banjo, for I could not sleep.
And I'm singing by my little Tillie's grave.
When they tore my Jennie from her sweet, sweet child.
And her heart was withering with mine,
In my arms I bore thee to this island wild.
Lest the fate of thy mother should be thine.-Chorus.
How sweet have the seasons glided by since then.
How happy each moment of the year,
Save a sigh that the loved one might come back again.
We have known not a sorrow nor a tear.- Chorus.
But the swamp fever lighted on thy dark-brown cheek.
And I knew death was knocking at the door;
How my full soul trembled with its bursting grief
When" I saw that my Tillie was no more.-Chorus.
Now the wild cat is wailing and the night hawk screams,
And the copperhead is hissing in the shade;
They shall come not hither to disturb thy dreams,
For I'll watch where thy sleeping dust is laid.
Sleep, Tillie, sleep, in the midnight deep.
Where the cypress and the vine sadly wave,
Let my lingers keep tumming and my fond heart weep
Till I die by my little Tillie's grave.