THE DYING BOY. 167 
He lived and loved—will sorrow say_ 
By early sorrows tried ; 
He smiled, he sigh’d, he pass’d away; 
His life was hut an April day,—^ 
He loved, and died ! 
My mother smiles, then turns away, 
But turns away to weep ; 
They whisper round me—what they say 
I need not hear, for in the clay 
I soon must sleep. 
O, love is sorrow ! sad it is 
To be both tried and true ; 
I ever trembled in my bliss: 
Now there are farewells in a kiss,— 
They sigh adieu. 
But woodbines flaunt when blue bells fade. 
Where Don reflects the skies ; 
And many a youth in ShireclifTs’ shade 
Will ramble where my boyhood play’d : 
Though Alfred dies. 
