XXI) Epitaph on a former self
I’ll lay thee down and let tee lie,
My sweet my earliest born;
Thy life has cost me many a sigh,
But now I’ve ceased to mourn.
Oh bitter was the taking leave,
And cruel to snap the thread,
But yet at heart I cannot grieve
To think of thee as dead.
For ne’er could such a weakling frame
As thine to manhood grow,
And sturdier sons may bear thy name,
Brothers thou wilt not know.
Yet none shall ever take away
This love I bear to thee,
Which evermore its toll shall pay
Of griefless memory.
For death has soothed thy sobbing wild
And east rests the head;
Lie still, lie low, my earliest child,
‘Tis well that thou art dead.