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She Sleeps in the Grave.
The music, with piano-forte accompaniment, published by G. P. Reed & Co., Boston.
How oft have you asked why I never am gay! Why my forehead is wrinkled, my hair has turned
gray; Why the friends of my heart, and the tried ones of
years, Have ne'er seen me smile, but oft found me in tears; Why I fly from your sports, and your pastimes pass by, And why from my bosom I oft heave a sigh! But listen, my friends, 'tis the last time I'll have To tell of the dear one who sleeps in the grave!
Chorus. She sleeps in the grave! she sleeps in the grave!
Where the sweet flowers grow and the tall willows wave;
And the moon when she sails in the heavens above,
Looks sadly and cold on the tomb of my love!
Yes, alas! oh, alas! she has gone, she has gone! i have none to love now! I'm alone, all alone! She was sick, and my heart said with many a sigh, That Dinah, the wife of my bosom, must die! How my heart beateth now, as her last words I tell: She kissed me and said — "Fare thee well! O!
farewell!" When the bright sun had sunk to his home in the
west, My Dinah, my darling, lay dead on my breast.
chorus. And she sleeps in the grave ! &c.