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Be still the Fairy of the Dance,
A poor one though it be!
Why, waste a thought on me!
(JUNE 25, 1821.)
ON THE DEATH OF A SCHOOLFELLOW.
TRANSLATED FROM SOME LATIN VERSES BY THE REV.
E. C. HAWTREY.
SNATCHED from us in thy sinless years,
To thee we bid the lament flow,
A brother's and a parent's woe.
'Tis sweet, poor Boy! and yet 'tis pain,
Though life and hope are fled, e'en now
Upon thy moistened cheek and brow;
Until we fancy that a gleam
Again hath lit that glazing eye,
We bear those lifeless lips reply.
Yet, while the words are on my tongne,
Corruption awes me! and aside
And feel what love would wish to hide.
And, while thy cold remains we lay
To sleep beneath their colder stone,
I turn me from the frame's decay,
To muse on that which kuoweth none.
Unhurt, undying, undecayed,
Thy soul exists beyond the tomb!
Whose beauties now are wrapt in gloom,
Thy spirit comes at evening's hour,
And thus it says, or seems to say: “ Lament not, though the cherished flower
Hath bloomed and faded in a day;
“ And let not them that gave me birth,
And let not her that closed my eyes Weep o'er me in my bed of earth,
Or sorrow at my obsequies !
“ The rays of Heaven around me shine,
Why should they pine in earthly cares ? Eternity of bliss is mine,
Why should a moment's pang be theirs ?”
IF when with thee I feel and speak
(CAMBRIDGE, December, 1821.)