Blue-birds, linger her awhile
O'er this sacred grassy pile
Sing your sweetest songs to me
'Tis the grave of Eulalie

Roses white, around her tomb
Gently wave and sweetly bloom
Let your silent language be
"We will bloom for Eulalie.”

Streamlet, chanting at her feet
Mournful music, sad and sweet
Wake her not she dreams of me
'Neath the yew tree, Eulalie!

Eulalie, but yester-night
Came a spirit veiled in white;
I knew it could be none but thee
Bride of Death, lost Eulalie

Angels, guard her with your wings
Shield her from unholy things
Bid her dream love-dreams of me
Till I come, sleep, Eulalie!

Blue-birds, linger here awhile
O'er this sacred grassy pile
Sing your sweetest songs to me
'Tis the grave of Eulalie