All the nation mourned the loss of the duke, for every one loved and admired him.
With his namesake Prince Henry he completed not twenty years, and what was said of the unkle, was as true of the nephew.
In searching at the British Museum a little while ago for documents concerning this prince, we came upon a mention under his name in the catalogue of "Some Teares." Curious to see what they were, we were told that the book which contained them was too valuable to be brought into the great reading room, where hundreds of workers congregate in busy silence every day. So we were taken through locked doors into an inner sanctum; and there the precious document was intrusted to us. It was a large sheet of stiff paper, with wide black borders, and on it a long poem (of which I can only give a few lines) was printed, entitled,
SOME TEARES DROPT ON THE HERSE OF THE INCOMPARABLE PRINCE
Fatal _September_ to the Royal line Has snatch'd one Heroë of our hopeful _Trine_ From Earth; 'tis strange heaven should not proedeclare A loss so grievous by some _Blazing Star_, Which might our senses overjoy'd, alarm, And time give to prepare for so great harm.
He was Fair Fruit sprung from a Royal Bud, And grown as great by fair Renown as Blood; Ripe too too soon; for in a Youth so green An Harvest was of gray-haired Wisdome seen.
_Minerva's_ Darling, Patron of the Gown, Lover of Learning, and _Apollo's_ Crown He was; the Muses he began to nourish, Learn'd men and arts under his wings did flourish. But lest we should commit Idolatry, Heav'n took him from our sight, not Memory.
_London:_ Printed by _W. Godbid_ for _Henry Brome_ at the _Gun_ in _Ivy Lane_, and _Henry Marsh_ at the _Princes Arms_ in _Chancery-lane_ near _Fleet-street_, M.D.C.L.X.
As we handled the stiff old sheet with its black borders, and saw September 20, written in before the date in faded ink, we seemed to see the handsome, gentle, studious prince, borne out of the palace where the tragedy of his father's death was yet fresh in the minds of those who were rejoicing at the young king's restoration. We seemed to follow the sad procession down to the Abbey of Westminster, and watch him laid in the grave of his great-grandmother, beside his little sister Anna. And it saddened us to think of that gallant young lad cut off just when fortune smiled upon him after his lonely childhood, his stormy boyhood. But then we thought again of all he was saved from--of the corruption and evil-doing of his brother Charles's abominable court--of the troubles and disgraces of James the Second's reign. And the little chapel where he lies was transformed into a safe haven of refuge from evils far worse than death.