Epitaph On a Friend Oh friend, forever loved, forever dear! What fruitless tears have batherd thy Honour'd bier! What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; Could sighs avert his darts relentless force; could youth and virture claim a short delay, Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey; though still hadst lived to bless my aching sight They comrades honour and thy friends delight. If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, A greif too deep to trust the sculptors art. No markble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, but living statues there are seen to weep; Afflictions semblance bends not o'er thy tomb Afflictions self deplores thy youthful doom. What though thy sire lament his failing line, A fathers sorrows cannot equal mine! Though none like thee, his dying hour will cheer, Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here; But who with me shall hold thy former place? Thine image what new friendship can efface? Ah, none! -- a fathers tears will cease to flow, Time will assuage an infant brothers woe; To all Save one is consolation known, While solitary friendship sighs alone. Lord Byron