O, that the young and beautiful should feed the slimy worm!
Fair mourner! whither goest thou? why dost thou turn away?
How canst thou for a moment leave that lovely sleeping clay?
I need not ask—full well I know that thou wouldst linger long,
And near thy sweet unconscious child these sacred hours prolong;
But now thou go’st with eager step, thy husband’s heart to cheer,
And see! thou leav’st a loving friend, to watch beside the bier.
The playmate of thy gentle boy—the dog he loved so well—
He lieth there beside that corse, a faithful sentinel!
O, were that noble beast endow’d with man’s intelligence,