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170 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
She died, the fairest flow'r that op'd to day, Died in the spring time's brightness, Died in her young heart's lightness,
While all conspir'd to ask her longer stay.
When parent hearts their richest benison gave, Their fondness lavished o'er her, And strew'd the way before her
With flowers which since have perish'd on her grave.
How sad to see the young buds early droop,
And pale before us lying,
In all their fragrance dying— The buds of intellect, the germs of hope !
But sadder far 'twould be, if no bright ray,
From yonder gates of light,
Stream'd to our anxious sight, Turning our tho'ts from Time's dark shore away.
0 ! ye, who mourn for fair Adelia gone, Whose hearts with pain are riven, Look up to yon bright heaven—
There lives in fadeless light your darling one!
Be it your highest care to find the road To her sweet home of gladness, Beyond the reach of sadness,
And she will hail you to her blest abode!
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