Young, modest, scarce yet tried,
Later he should have died,
This gentle youth, loved by our widowed QUEEN!
So we are apt to say,
Who only mark the way,
Not the great goal by all but Heaven unseen.
At least our tears may fall
Upon the untimely pall
Of so much frustrate promise, unreproved;
At least our hearts may bear
In her great grief a share,
Who bows above the bier of him she loved.
Princess, whose brightening fate
We gladly hymned of late,
Whose nuptial happiness we hoped to hymn
With the first bursts of spring,
To you our hearts we bring
Warm with a sympathy death cannot dim.
Death, cold and cruel Death,
Removes the Bridal Wreath
England for England's daughter had designed.
Love cannot stay that hand,
And Hymen's rosy band
Is rent; so will the Fates austere and blind.
Blind and austere! Ah, no!
The chill succeeds the glow,
As winter hastes at summer's hurrying heel.
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