A SONG .

Down by the bridge, at last, alas!
Here, where the spring-tide passed, alas!
 Here, where the stream runs slow;
Here, did a May-beam die, alas!
Here, did a day-dream fly, alas!
 Here did a wild-rose grow;
Fair, oh fair,
   And to fade so fast;
Fair, so fair,
   And so soon past.
Here, where the fragrant spice-wood grows,
Here, where the first wild larkspur shows,
 Here, by the beechen bridge.

 Here, we came, we two, ah me!
 Here with our love so new, ah me!
  Here did her light feet cross,
 Here, on the hand-rail old, ah me!
 She leant in the sun-set gold, ah me!
  A-shredding the star-like moss.
Fair, ah fair,
   And to fade so fast;
Fair, so fair;—
   But all is past—
Here, while the trees stood all a-dream,
She moved like a shade beyond the stream
 Over the beechen bridge.