COUSIN ROBERT.
73
That name, however wide it rings,
I oft think, when alone,
I rather would have seen it graved
Upon a churchyard stone—
I oft think, when alone,
I rather would have seen it graved
Upon a churchyard stone—
Upon the white sunshining stone
Where cousin Alick lies:
Ah, sometimes, woe to him that lives!
Happy is he that dies!
Where cousin Alick lies:
Ah, sometimes, woe to him that lives!
Happy is he that dies!
O Robert, Robert, many a tear—
Though not the tears of old—
Drops, thinking of your face last night
Your hand's remembered fold;
Though not the tears of old—
Drops, thinking of your face last night
Your hand's remembered fold;
A young man's face, so like, so like
Our mothers' faces fair:
A young man's hand, so firm to clasp,
So resolute to dare.
Our mothers' faces fair:
A young man's hand, so firm to clasp,
So resolute to dare.
I thought you good—I wished you great;
You were my hope, my pride:
To know you good, to make you great
I once had happy died.
You were my hope, my pride:
To know you good, to make you great
I once had happy died.
To tear the plague-spot from your heart,
Place honor on your brow,
See old age come in crowned peace—
I almost would die now!
Place honor on your brow,
See old age come in crowned peace—
I almost would die now!
