Here'S The Bower She Loved So Much, And The Tree She Planted; Here'S The Harp She Used To Touch-- Oh, How That Touch Enchanted! Roses Now Unheeded Sigh; Where's The Hand To Wreathe Them? Songs Around Neglected Lie; Where's The Lip To Breathe Them? Here'S The Bower, Etc. Spring May Bloom, But She We Loved Ne'er Shall Feel Its Sweetness; Time, That Once So Fleetly Moved, Now Hath Lost Its Fleetness. Years Were Days, When Here She Strayed, Days Were Moments Near Her; Heaven Ne'er Formed A Brighter Maid, Nor Pity Wept A Dearer! Here'S The Bower, Etc.