She played, a bright and blue-eyed girl,
Before her cottage door;
Her golden hair in many a curl
Her shoulders fair hung o'er:
From childhood's earliest days she loved
To watch the silvery beam
Of the sweet moon, as light it moved
Along her village stream.

She left her home a blushing bride —
She left her village too; —
The stately husband by her side
Her feelings never knew:
Nor how a tear stood in her eye
That dimmed its azure gleam:
Nor why she breathed a deep-drawn sigh
At parting with the stream.

She went where form the gay and proud
A world within their own;
The centre of an envying crowd,
She stood as one alone:
And when on every tongue her grace
And beauty was the theme,
She longed once more the bee to chase
Beside her native stream.

She sought a land which ever smiles
Back to the smiling sun;
Where odours float from balmy isles,
And streams of silver run:
Yet ev'n mid these she longed for night,
For then, in some sweet dream,
She stood again beside her bright
And beauteous village stream!

Again she sought her childhood's home,
But, ah! how changed was she!
For Death had whispered to her, " Come
And make thy home with me!"
She lingered the long winter through,
And heard the owlet's scream
Among the leafless trees that grew
Beside her village stream.

Slow passed the dreary winter hours;
The soft winds came once more;
The sun awoke the early flowers
Before her cottage door: —
But ere the trees began to wave
Their green leaves in his beam,
They laid her in the quiet grave
Beside her native stream.