"They made her a grave, too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true;
And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp
Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp
She paddles her white canoe."

"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree
When the footstep of death is near."