In Memory of
Charles Russell son of
Doctr Richard & Elizabeth Russell
Who died Aug. 2d 1809
In the 25 Year of his Age.
Yes thou are blest while here we heave these sighs
Thy death is virtue wafted to the sky
And still thy image fond affection keeps
The friend remembers and the mother weeps.
There are several things to note about this epitaph.
For one thing, it is comparatively rare to ‘hear’ the message of the verse in the second person (addressed to you, thee, thou). It is much more common to use the first person (“I have a message to impart to friends/readers/loved ones left behind) or the third person (“he/she lies in hope of the life to come”). I have seen the second person used in the epitaph of an infant (“God call you home, He thought it best”) — note here that while Charles was 25 years old and no infant, this is still a monument erected by his parents so perhaps that relationship accounts for the phrasing.
Secondly, the source text is an epitaph written in London some 7 years earlier, Epitaph in Chiswick Church on a Youth of Fifteen, by Arthur Murphy. Murphy was an Irish-born barrister and writer, famous in his day for his plays, essays, and poetry. He was well known to Samuel Johnson and the Thrales. The poem uses a familiar formulation for elegiac verse: “If [beauty, virtue, youth, etc.] could prevent death, then you would still be alive, however….” Here is Murphy’s epitaph in its entirety:
If in the morn of life each winning grace,
The converse sweet, the mind-illumin'd face,
The lively wit that charm'd with early art,
And mild affections streaming from the heart;
If these, lov'd youth, could check the hand of Fate,
Thy matchless worth had claim'd a longer date.
But thou art blest, while here we heave the figh;
Thy death is virtue wafted to the sky.
Yet still thy image fond affection keeps,
The sire remembers, and the mother weeps;
Still the friend grieves, who saw thy vernal bloom,
And here, sad task! inscribes it on thy tomb.
It fascinates me to think of this poem being printed (or shared in manuscript form), crossing the Atlantic, and being read in some form by Doctor Russell or his wife at a time when they were looking for words with which to bid their dead son an elegant, lyrical adieu.
