Classic Poem

There's sadness and sorrow, there's wailing and woe,
Lone breasts are heaving, and silent tears flow;
Autumn hath gone, and cold winter blows keen —
Faded and dead is the Lady of Dean.

Oh! woe for the aged, and woe for the poor,
That angel brings joy to their dwellings no more;
The orphan's bright tear-drops that glisten'd like sheen,
Were made pearls of joy by the Lady of Dean.

Her voice was attuned the sad mourner to cheer,
Her step fell like music on age's dull ear;
So humble her spirit, so gentle her mien,
The poorest claim'd kin with the Lady of Dean.

When living all deem'd her an angel of light, —
Now dead, all believe her a star shining bright;
If Mercy's sweet angel on earth e'er was seen,
She lived, and she died, in the Lady of Dean.

Pale Death shrinks aghast from the deed he hath done,
All twined with sad yew is the wreath he hath won;
The meek winter flower gems the turf growing green,
That covers the grave of the Lady of Dean!