 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
My William.
1846.
My William died in London,
In London broad and brave;
His little life was but a drop
Dashed from her mighty wave!
And few there were that mourned my boy,
When he went to his grave.
In London broad and brave;
His little life was but a drop
Dashed from her mighty wave!
And few there were that mourned my boy,
When he went to his grave.
Few mourned—and when we laid him
In his earth-bed cold and low,
No hireling Mute, I said, should stand
In mimicry of woe;
But genuine tears, from eyes he loved,
Flowed forth—as still they flow.
In his earth-bed cold and low,
No hireling Mute, I said, should stand
In mimicry of woe;
But genuine tears, from eyes he loved,
Flowed forth—as still they flow.
290
I thought—but that was weakness—
I had rather seen him laid
In the distant, rural, green churchyard
Near which a child he played,
With daisies o'er the turf to bloom,
And no dull walls to shade.
I had rather seen him laid
In the distant, rural, green churchyard
Near which a child he played,
With daisies o'er the turf to bloom,
And no dull walls to shade.
How shall we e'er forget him?
His eye, instinct with light—
His cheek's fair bloom, which Death itself
Found it most hard to blight—
His little manly bearing—all
That made our cottage bright!
His eye, instinct with light—
His cheek's fair bloom, which Death itself
Found it most hard to blight—
His little manly bearing—all
That made our cottage bright!
Above a boy ambitious,
To learn, to work, to rise—
Beyond his years considerate,
And ominously wise—
O how I prized him! Now, it seems
That half I did not prize.
To learn, to work, to rise—
Beyond his years considerate,
And ominously wise—
O how I prized him! Now, it seems
That half I did not prize.
O London! fatal London!
How proud to come was I!
How proud was he! how proud were all!
And all have come—to die!
Pass on, sad years! and close the tale
With its best words—“Here lie”—
How proud to come was I!
How proud was he! how proud were all!
And all have come—to die!
Pass on, sad years! and close the tale
With its best words—“Here lie”—
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |