On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,

  And chilly was the midnight gloom,

When by the damp grave Ellen wept—

  Fond maid! it was her Lindor's tomb!

A warm tear gushed, the wintry air,

  Congealed it as it flowed away:

All night it lay an ice-drop there,

  At morn it glittered in the ray.

An angel, wandering from her sphere,

  Who saw this bright, this frozen gem,

To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear

  And hung it on her diadem!