“O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining;
He cannot leave thee now, While fresh west winds are blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing!
Edward, awake, awake — The golden evening gleams Warm and bright on Arden's lake — Arouse thee from thy dreams!
Beside thee, on my knee, My dearest friend, I pray That thou, to cross the eternal sea, Wouldst yet one hour delay:
I hear its billows roar — I see them foaming high; But no glimpse of a further shore Has blest my straining eye.
Believe not what they urge Of Eden isles beyond; Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land.
It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy breast — Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; I cannot let thee rest!”
One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear — One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer:
And, with sudden check, the heaving Of distraction passed away; Not a sign of further grieving Stirred my soul that awful day.
Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees.
Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weep.
But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed; Troubled still, and still they ranged not — Wandered not, nor yet reposed!
So I knew that he was dying — Stooped, and raised his languid head; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew that he was dead.
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