Cling to that world, for him with beauty fraught,
To all the hopes that promised glory’s meed,
And all th’ affections that with him shall bleed!
If, in his life’s young dayspring, while the rose
Of boyhood on his cheek yet freshly glows,
One human fear convulse his parting breath,
And shrink from all the bitterness of death!
But no! the spirit of his royal race
Sits brightly on his brow: that youthful face
Beams with heroic beauty, and his eye