Could parents' tears or prayers, or beauty's charm,
Or human skill, the tyrant death disarm,
Edward might still have lived; but all were vain,
Death only could alleviate his pain.
Since health declined but three short days are o'er,
Our hopes are vanquished--Edward is no more;
No more on earth, but with the saints in heaven,
To his young soul a patriarch's bliss is given.
Brief was the warning of his early doom,
From life's fair promise to the loathsome tomb;
Within the confines of his narrow grave
Lie prospects buried bright as man could have:
His lamp's extinguished ere the midnight hour;
Decrepit age o'er him has lost its power.
Accept these lines to his dear honoured shade,
I loved him living, and I mourn him dead.
March, 1834.
Or human skill, the tyrant death disarm,
Edward might still have lived; but all were vain,
Death only could alleviate his pain.
Since health declined but three short days are o'er,
Our hopes are vanquished--Edward is no more;
No more on earth, but with the saints in heaven,
To his young soul a patriarch's bliss is given.
Brief was the warning of his early doom,
From life's fair promise to the loathsome tomb;
Within the confines of his narrow grave
Lie prospects buried bright as man could have:
His lamp's extinguished ere the midnight hour;
Decrepit age o'er him has lost its power.
Accept these lines to his dear honoured shade,
I loved him living, and I mourn him dead.
March, 1834.
