Union in Death

Fondly lov’d a youth and youthful maiden, And they wash’d them in the self-same water, And they dried them with the self-same linen: Full a year had pass’d, and no one knew it: Yet another year—’twas all discover’d, And the father heard it, and the mother; But the mother check’d their growing fondness, Banish’d love, and exiled them for ever.

To the stars he look’d, and bade them tell her: “Die, sweet maiden! on the week’s last even; Early will I die on Sabbath morning.” As the stars foretold th’ event, it happen’d: On the eve of Saturday the maiden Died—and died the youth on Sunday morning: And they were, fond pair, together buried; And their hands were intertwined together: In those hands they placed the greenest apples: When, behold! ere many moons had shone there, From the grave sprung up a verdant pine-tree, And a fragrant crimson rose-tree follow’d: Round the pine the rose-tree fondly twined it, As around the straw the silk clings closely.