She died, as dawned her natal day!
Amid the buds and flowers of May
Her spirit left the beauteous clay,
In death's deep slumber here;
And mounting up her starry way,
Attained that holier sphere,
Where falls no night o'er birth-day light—
No sorrow brings a tear.
The joy and glory of the skies
With radiance fill her heavenly eyes,
Where thornless flowers around her rise,
And founts that ne'er shall fail;
While here her form so lowly lies
All silent, cold and pale;
Where dews distil, and night-winds chill
Moan through the shadowy vale.