Hear me but once, while o'er the grave,

  In which our Love lies cold and dead,

I count each flattering hope he gave

  Of joys now lost and charms now fled.

Who could have thought the smile he wore

  When first we met would fade away?

Or that a chill would e'er come o'er

  Those eyes so bright thro' many a day?

      Hear me but once, etc.