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She came; his cold hand softly touch'd,
And bath'd with many a tear:
Fast-falling o'er the primrose pale,
So morning dews appear.
But oh! his sister's jealous care,
A cruel sister she!
Forbade what Emma came to say;
My Edwin live for me.
Now homeward as she hopeless wept,
The church-yard path along,
The blast blew cold, the dark owl scream'd,
Her lover's funeral song.
Amid the falling gloom of night,
Her startling fancy found
In every bush his hovering shade,
His groan in every sound.
Alone, appall'd thus had she past
The visionary vale—
When lo! the death-bell smote her ear,
Sad sounding in the gale!
Just then she reach'd with trembling step,
