 | Young Arthur |  |
Fresh is the turf, with osier twin'd,
Simple the stone which records it's lot;
Mournful the cypress whose boughs, declin'd,
Wave, murmuring, over the hallow'd spot.
The turf, stone, and cypress, shall wither and wane,
But the seed in that grave it shall flower again.
Simple the stone which records it's lot;
Mournful the cypress whose boughs, declin'd,
Wave, murmuring, over the hallow'd spot.
The turf, stone, and cypress, shall wither and wane,
But the seed in that grave it shall flower again.
And who has there made a lasting bed?
And whom does that stone record?
Now happily rest that humble head
In the bosom of the Lord!
O'! sweet is the sleep that the virtuous take,
But sweeter the sound that shall bid them awake.
Simon and Margaret slumber here,
And Allan he rais'd this stone;
And he heav'd a sigh, and he dropp'd a tear,
For loss of the love that's gone!
Farewell, gentle hearts, ye shall smile in the day
When many a proud one shall sorrow for aye!
And whom does that stone record?
Now happily rest that humble head
In the bosom of the Lord!
O'! sweet is the sleep that the virtuous take,
But sweeter the sound that shall bid them awake.
48
And Allan he rais'd this stone;
And he heav'd a sigh, and he dropp'd a tear,
For loss of the love that's gone!
Farewell, gentle hearts, ye shall smile in the day
When many a proud one shall sorrow for aye!
| Young Arthur | |