to mary in heaven
thou ling'ring star, with lessening ray,
that lov'st to greet the early morn,
again thou usher'st in the day
my mary from my soul was torn.
o mary! dear departed shade!
where is thy place of blissful rest?
see'st thou thy lover lowly laid?
hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
that sacred hour can i forget,
can i forget the hallow'd grove,
where, by the winding ayr, we met,
to live one day of parting love!
eternity will not efface
those records dear of transports past,
thy image at our last embrace,
ah! little thought we 'twas our last!