Upon yon bridge a maiden see,
She weeps — she weeps — how bitterly!

And lo! her lover passes by,
With proud and with reproachful eye.

" O come, on Sabbath morn to me,
And I will wreathe a wreath for thee. "

Morn came — he came not to the maid,
And then the flowery wreath decay'd.

The rain rush'd down — the flowrets died,
Because the youth his vow belied.