She wanders round the old church walls,
And by the grassy graves,
As if some scanty solace thence
Her mourning spirit craves.
When death, the cherished and the loved,
Hath severed from the heart,
To view the tombs where they were laid
Can sad relief impart.
Such loss is hers—but in that ground
Her loved ones do not lie;
Yet often there she wanders lone,
And strange graves hovers nigh.
Once she a husband kind possessed,
And two sons stout and brave;
But midst the stern November gales
The sea became their grave.
Far off from land, their fishing barks
The whelming waves flowed o’er;
At home she waited their return,
But never saw them more!
With faithful heart she’s wept for them
Through many fleeting years;
Though o’er their graves she ne’er could pay
The tribute of her tears.
Now oft her slow and feeble steps
Are to that church-yard led,
Because she feels more nigh to them
Amid the silent dead!