BOB.
[Written on an Infant's Grave in the Torquay
Cemetery.]
This was the child of hope: about his birth
Fair portents shone, recorded that they might,
When he had won his name, be brought to light,
And men might read the promise of his worth
In all that heralded his dawn on Earth,
And from his cradle fame begin to write.
But after a brief sojourn took he flight
Before he knew so much as grief or mirth.
High hopes are buried underneath this stone,
Where lies a child begotten overseas,
Who never breathed in that serener zone
Where, even in the winter, cooling breeze
Is welcome to the joyous folk who fare
Free and contented in the sunny air.
