Oh Boy! forever lov’d, for ever
dear,
What fruitless tears have wash’d
thy honour’d bier;
What sighs re-echoed to thy parting breath,
Whilst thou wert struggling in the pangs
of death.
Could tears have turn’d the tyrant
in his course,
Could sighs have check’d his dart’s
relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey.
Thou still had’st liv’d, to
bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade’s honour, and thy friend’s
delight:
Though low thy lot, since in a cottage
born,
No titles did thy humble name adorn,
To me, far dearer, was thy artless love,
Than all the joys, wealth, fame, and friends
could prove.
For thee alone I liv’d, or wish’d
to live,
(Oh God! if impious, this rash word forgive)
Heart broken now, I wait an equal doom,
Content to join thee in thy turf-clad
tomb;
Where this frail form compos’d in
endless rest,
I’ll make my last, cold, pillow
on thy breast;
That breast where oft in life, I’ve
laid my head,
Will yet receive me mouldering with the
dead;
This life resign’d without one parting
sigh,
Together in one bed of earth we’ll
lie!
Together share the fate to mortals given,
Together mix our dust, and hope for Heaven.
HARROW, 1803.
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