Classic Poem

Come thou sweet Muse my lay inspire,
That wak'st to pensive strains the lyre,
Come thy mournful numbers pour;
Oh be thy notes of sorrow deep;
Much was he lov'd whose silent sleep
The voice of morn shall wake no more.

Mourn for the early fate of worth;
How short alas its date on earth:
Mourn for youth's precarious bloom,
Frail blossom of a summer's day,
Snatch'd in its morning hour away,
To waste and wither in the tomb.

You who have lost a friend approv'd,
A friend from Infancy belov'd,
So virtuous and so young as mine,
Oh let your partial feelings plead
For this memorial of the dead,
This tribute to affection's shrine.

Calm was my Edwin's tranquil breast,
Each rude emotion quick suppress'd,
The nobler feelings center'd there;
There warm devotion ardent glow'd,
And soft compassion overflow'd,
And pure benevolence sincere.

No passion discompos'd his soul,
Subject to reason's just controul,
And govern'd by religion's laws;
How gentle was his manly mind,
He felt for all of human kind;
Warm in humanity's blest cause.

That injur'd cause I lov'd to hear
Pleaded against harsh laws severe,
By lips of innocence and truth;
On his persuasive accents long
Have I with fond attention hung,
Charm'd with the wisdom of his youth;

And hop'd, but friendship's hopes are o'er;
Lamented youth! ah never more
That gentle voice, so dear to me,
Shall I with heart-felt pleasure hear,
No more thy footsteps greet my ear,
No more thy placid smile I see.

Fast roll the summer months away,
They bring no more the welcome day,
And dark December's joyless gloom
Comes all unlook'd unwish'd for now,
No pleasing prospects cheer its brow;
There's no returning from the tomb.

Yet there's a hope in which we trust,
When virtuous friends are laid in dust;
That cheering hope shall still remain,
To soothe the mourner's pensive breast,
That in the mansions of the bless'd
We yet may meet in joy again.