The Rose of the Valley

Cydwelew ! Cydwelew ! thy beauty is o'er
And the Rose of the Valley will flourish no more.
The spring may return, and the summer may beam
Through the mist of the hill and the spray of the stream,
On flowrets as sweet and on roses as fair,
But the pride of thy loveliness, will not be there.

We will weep for thee, Ellen, though tears are in vain,
And the rose that is withered will bloom not again,
Though the joys that are gone we may never recall,
And the love be departed that hallowed them all :
We will weep for thee, Ellen, and mourn for the hour
That saw thy young beauty a withering flower !

The dews may descend, and their softness will bring
The favour of heaven to the blossoms of spring,
And the breeze of the evening, when earth is at rest,
Will woo the young rosebud to open her breast.
But the Rose of the Valley will flourish no more,
And Cydwelew will weep that its beauty is o'er !