Sterne at the Tomb of Maria

The sun shone pale on mountain snow, While morn unbarr'd her gate; Wak'd by his beams, Maria rose, To mourn her hapless fate: In piteous sounds of deepest woe, Which echo'd thro' the vale; Soft as the rising blush of morn, Or zephyr's fragrant gale.

All night her shroud before her past, The owl cry'd, and raven too; At eve Maria breath'd her last, And prov'd these omens true: Her spirit's now in heaven repos'd, Which here sad vigils kept; Whose wounds on earth were never clos'd—

Yet ere I bid my last adieu, While in my clay-cold bed, Accept the tear of friendship true, Which o'er thy grave I shed; While life remains, thy hapless love In mem'ry e'er shall live; May'st thou in heav'n those blessings prove Which earth could never give.