Few the days the fair one numbered,
  Ere were closed his lustrous eyes;
And he calmly, sweetly slumbered,
  Like a cherub from the skies.

From the body, frail and sickly,
  In the solemn hush of night,
Stole the spirit, soft and quickly,
  Back to native realms of light.

Still the sweet one, unawaken'd,
  Dreamed and smiled when night had fled,
Knowing not the soul had taken
  Wings, and up to glory sped.

Folded on his heaveless bosom,
  Slight his ivory hands were pressed;
And thus slept the heavenly blossom,
  Truant from the Land of Rest.