186 THE LANGUAGE OF FIOWESS. 
Though my vows I can pour, 
To my Mary no more, 
My Mary, to Love once so dear; 
In the shade of her bow’r, 
I remember the hour, 
She rewarded those vows with a Tear 
By another possest. 
May she live ever blest, 
Her name still my heart must revere; 
With a sigh I resign 
What I once thought was mine, 
And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 
Ye friends of my heart, 
Ere from you I depart. 
This hope to my breast is most near; 
If again we shall meet 
In this rural retreat, 
May we meet as we part with a Tear. 
When my soul wings her flight 
To the regions of night, 
And my corse shall recline on its bier, 
As ye pass by the tomb. 
Where my ashes consume, 
Oh ! moisten their dust with a Tear. 
May no marble bestow 
The splendor of woe, 
Which the children of vanity rear; 
No fiction or fame 
Shall blazon my name, 
All I ask, all I wish, is a Tear ! 
