  A SONG. In the loveliest springtime, ’Neath a willow tree, There we laid poor Lula Near the sighing sea, That the birds might warble Sweetly o’er her tomb; That the flowers in beauty There might ever bloom. CHORUS. Yes, by the sobbing sea we’ve laid her, Near its waters flow, Where the sad waves are ever breathing Music deep and low. When the shadowy twilight Gathered o’er the lea, And the stars of heaven Were beaming on the sea, Then with gentle Lula Oft we silent strayed By the murmuring waters Where the moonlight played. Now no more with Lula On the ocean’s shore; When the breeze is dying Lula comes no more. In her beauty’s bloom, ’Neath a dark green willow, In the silent tomb. I am growing weary Watching here alone, For my darling Lula Nevermore will come. Yet a voice is ever Whisp’ring unto me That there are no partings Beyond life’s mystic sea. |
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