Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies,
And love shall o'er the moss-crown'd bed,
When dew-drops leave the weeping skies,
His tenderest tear of pity shed.

And sacred shall the willow be,
That shades the spot where virtue sleeps;
And mournful memory weep to see
The hallow'd watch affection keeps.

Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart
Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease;
Soon from his woes the suff'rer part,
And hail thee at the Throne of Peace!