On the Death of Prince Henry, 1183

If all the pain, and misery, and woe.
The tears, the losses with misfortune fraught,
That in this dark life man can ever know,
Were heap'd together — all would seem as naught
Against the death of the young English king;
For by it youth and worth are sunk in gloom,
And the world dark and dreary as a tomb,
Reft of all joy, and full of grief and sadness.

In dire distress, and full of bitter woe,
Forsaken mourn the warriors renown'd,
Trouveres and jongleurs debonair, I trow,
Too fierce an enemy in death have found,
Who bore off from them the young English king.
To him the bountiful but niggards were;
Nor deem that there has been or shall be e'er
On earth a loss so full of pain and sadness.

Bloodthirsty Death, that bring'st us bitter woe!
Well may'st thou boast, since that earth's noblest peer
To thy dark realm a prisoner must go;
Nor was there anything to Virtue dear
That was not found in our young English king.
More meet it were he lived, if God loved right,
Than that should prosper many an evil wight,
Who to the just bring naught but pain and sadness.

If from this base world full of bitter woe
Love do take wings, false are all earthly joys,
All turns to ill and sorrow here below,
Worse follows bad, and once-loved pleasure cloys.
Be mirror to us each, young English king,
Who wert in life of chivalry the Head;
Oh! fair and loved one, whither hast thou fled?
Why hast thou left us in our gloom and sadness?

The Lord, who chose by reason of our woe,
To live on earth and break sin's heavy chain,
And Death received to trample down our foe —
That righteous Lord implore we that He deign
To pardon this our dear young English king;
As He true pardon is may Henry rest
Among the holy numbers of the blest,
There where has never been nor will be sadness.