Idly one day in a foreign town
In a churchyard's shade I sat me down
By the side of a little cross of stone
On which was a woman's name alone.
A cypress whispered in my ear
That all was now neglected here;
"Emily's Grave" was all I read;
Nothing more on the cross was said;
Neither a name, nor Bible verse,
Nor date relieved the inscription terse,—
"Emily's Grave".
So strange this seemed, my blood turned cold
At thought of a tragedy never told.
The flowers, the grass, and the humming bees
Were blithe and gay in the sun and breeze,
Yet no kind hand had ever strewn
Sweet flowers, where only weeds had grown,
And nothing brightened the lonely mound
Whose edge was lost in the trodden ground.
At length to the churchyard gate I went,
And asked of a woman old and bent,
"Who was the girl, whose cross of stone
Bears nothing save these words alone,—
'Emily's Grave'?"
"Alas!" she answered, "many a year
Hath passed since I beheld her bier;
She was young, and came from a humble nest,
And credulous too, like all the rest;
So a stranger met her here one day
And caught her in his net straightway.
He said he was rich, and she should shine
Like a queen in his castle by the Rhine,
And, winning her love, he took her hence
To where she found it was all pretence.
He had basely lied to the simple maid,
And, wearying soon of a girl betrayed,
Abandoned her; then home once more
She came, to sink at her mother's door.
Of shame and grief she was quickly dead,
For here she could no more lift her head;
And her mother, wishing to efface
All memory of her child's disgrace,
Reared that small cross, to which she gave
The title only,—'Emily's Grave'".

(From the German.)