Methought I saw the phantom stand
Beside the peaceful wave;

I felt the pressure of her hand-
Then look'd towards her grave.

Fair, fair beneath the evening sky

The quiet church-yard lay:
The tall pine-grove most solemnly
Hung mute above her clay.

Dearly she loved their arching spread,
Their music wild and sweet,

And, as she wish'd on her deathbed,

Was buried at their feet.

Around her grave a beauteous fence
Of wild-flowers shed their breath,
Smiling like infant innocence

Within the gloom of death.

Such flowers from bank of mountain brook

At eve we used to bring,
When every little mossy nook
Betray'd returning Spring.

Oft had I fix'd the simple wreath
Upon her virgin breast;

But now such flowers as form'd it, breathe

Around her bed of rest.

Yet all within my silent soul,

As the hush'd air, was calm;
The natural tears that slowly stole,
Assuaged my grief like balm.

The air that seem'd so thick and dull
For months unto my eye;
Ah me! how bright and beautiful
It floated on the sky!

A trance of high and solemn bliss
From purest ether came;
'Mid such a heavenly scene as this,
Death is an empty name!