Smiling river, smiling river,

    On thy bosom sun-beams play;

    ting and retreating,

    t more deceit they.

    In thy channel,

    Cones,

    Deep immersed, and unhearsed,

    Lies young Edwards corse: his bones.

    Ever wening, ever wening,

    As t them dash;

    torrent, in t,

    S o wash.

    As if senseless, as if senseless

    this case;

    so blindly, and unkindly,

    It destroyd, it now does grace.