Lay her where the woodbine clingeth
To the dark magnolia tree —
Where the breeze, low music bringeth
From the music of the sea.
With a sorrowful devotion,
Lay her where sweet violets be;
Where the leaves keep gentle motion
To the breathing of the sea.
There! there lay her — there! there leave her,
Our fair Ella — our young Ella — Ella Lee!
Ever blooming as the summer,
Ever humming like the bee,
We believed her some bright comer
From the land where souls are free.
Oh! she was so sweet and holy,
Mortal ne'er could lovelier be;
And she left us brightly, slowly,
As the sunset leaves the sea.
Yes! we have lost her, ever lost her,
Our sweet Ella — our young Ella — Ella Lee!
Lay her where the long grass creepeth
On the bark of many a tree —
Where the lonely willow weepeth,
Like a mourner by the sea.
She was lovely, she was gentle,
As all gifted spirits be;
Folded in a linen mantle,
Slumbering 'neath the sighing tree,
We have left her, we have lain her,
Our fair Ella — our lost Ella — Ella Lee!