Fair Was Thy Blossom

Fair was thy blossom, bonny flower,
That open'd like the rose in May,
Though nursed beneath the chilly shower
Of fell regret for love's decay.
How oft above thy lowly bed,
When all in silence slumber'd low,
The fond and filial tear was shed,
Thou child of love, of shame, and woe !

Fair was thy blossom, bonny flower,
Fair as the softest wreath of spring,
When late I saw thee seek the bower,
In peace thy morning hymn to sing.

Thy little foot across the lawn
Scarce from the primrose press'd the dew ;
I thought the spirit of the dawn
Before me to the greenwood flew.

The fatal shaft was on the wing,
Thy spotless soul from guilt to sever ;
A tear of pity wet the string,
That twang'd, and seal'd thine eye for ever.
I saw thee late the emblem true
Of beauty, innocence, and truth,
Stand on the upmost verge in view,
'Twixt childhood and unstable youth.

But now I see thee stretch'd at rest —
To break that rest shall wake no morrow —
Pale as the grave-flower on thy breast,
Poor child of love, of shame, and sorrow !
May thy long sleep be sound and sweet,
Thy visions fraught with bliss to be !
And long the daisy, emblem meet,
Shall shed its earliest tear o'er thee !