Eulalie
Eulalie | |
Henry S. Cornwell
| Bluebirds, linger here awhile, O'er this sacred grassy pile, Sing your sweetest songs to me 'Tis the grave of Eulalie. Roses white, around her tomb Gently wave and sweetly bloom, |: Let your silent language be We will bloom for Eulalie. :| | 2. Streamlet, chanting at her feet Mournful music, sad and sweet, Wake her not, she dreams of me 'Neath the yew tree, Eulalie! Eulalie, but yesternight, Came a spirit veiled in white; |: I knew it could be none but thee, Bride of Death, lost Eulalie. :| |
| 3. Angels, guard her with your wings, Shield her from unholy things, Bid her dream love-dreams of me, Till I come, sleep, Eulalie! Bluebirds, linger here awhile, O'er this sacred grass pile, |: Sing your sweetest songs to me 'Tis the grave of Eulalie. :| |