Edward's Grave

When others, fearful of the Gloom,
Their homeward path pursue,
Fond Sally seeks for Edwards tomb
Her sorrows to renew.

Where prayers of tenderness and love
By pilgrims often heard
Does court the angelic realms above
Her lover to reward.

Nor wizzards jump, nor gobblin tale,
Nor mimic elfin sprite,
Nor moping gost, nor spectre pale,
Nay the most dismal night

When hollow winds does wisstle thro
The mournful cypress shade,
When bent in howling rage the Yew—
Can never fright the maid.

No, no, her ever sorrowing mind
Attach'd to grief so strong
Does never listen to the wind,
Nor heed the gobblin throng.

Her sighs are urgh'd in heartfelt grief
For Edward’s haples fate,
She seeks but cannot find relief
All sorrow is too late.

Alas! poor maid, thy Edwards dead
And far beyond thy power;
In vain thy low reclining head
Bends down the sickly flower;

He cannot hear, he cannot see,
Pent low beneath the sod.
Then rise, chear up from misery
And leave his fate to God.

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