He has gone to his grave in the strength of youth,
While life shone bright before him;
And we, who remember his worth and truth,
Stand vainly grieving o'er him.
He has gone to his grave; that manly heart
No more with life is glowing;
And the tears to our eyes unbidden start,
Our sad hearts' overflowing.
I gaze on his rooms as beneath I pace,
And the past again comes o'er me,
For I feel his grasp, and I see his face,
And his voice has a welcome for me.
I gaze on the river, and see once more
His form in the race competing;
And I hear the time of his well-known oar,
And the shouts his triumph greeting.
Flow on, cold river! Our bitter grief
No tears from thy waves can waken:
Thy whisp'ring reed, and thy willow leaf
By no sad sighs are shaken.
Thy banks are thronged by the young and gay,
Who dream not of the morrow;
No ear hast thou for a mournful lay,
No sympathy with sorrow.
Flow on, dull river! Thy heedless wave,
As it echoes shouts of gladness,
Bears forms as stalwart, and hearts as brave,
As his whom we mourn in sadness.
But an arm more strong, and a heart more bold,
And with purer feelings glowing,
Thy flowing waters shall ne'er behold,
Till time has ceased from flowing.
(1866).