Bridesmaids with wax candles follow,
Weeping—music sad and hollow,
Sung in accents cold and clear,
“Misserere, sleep in peace!”
“Who with myrtle wreath is sleeping,
In the coffin’s narrow space?”
Dead, oh dead, and past all weeping—
"Fairest lily of her race,
Blooming like a cherished flower,
Till cut in an evil hour,
"Poor, poor, beautiful Mary!
PART FIFTH.
Terrible cold! on the window is frost,
But in the room beside the stove, is warm.
By the fire’s blaze granny sits and nods,
And again the maidens spin through the storm.
Spin around, whirl around, spinning wheel mine,
Advent is nearing, and rest will be thine.
For soon, for oh soon will be Christmas time.
Ah, thou Christmas evening,
Filled with mystic awe,
When I think upon thee,
My heart beats with awe.
We were sitting spinning,
As we sit to-day,
But a year has rolled by—
Two have gone away.
One is sitting sewing,
Baby shirts I ween.
Three months Mary sleepest,
In the graveyard green.
We were sitting spinning,
As we sit to-day.
Ere the year be finished,
Will we meet, I say?
