Stranger, there is bending o'er thee
Many an eye with sorrow wet:
All our stricken hearts deplore thee:
Who, that knew thee, can forget?
Who forget what thou hast spoken?
Who, thine eye-thy noble frame?
But, that golden bowl is broken,
In the greatness of thy fame.
Autumn's leaves shall fall and wither
On the spot where thou shalt rest;
'Tis in love we bear thee thither,
To thy mourning Mother's breast.
For the stores of science brought us,
For the charm thy goodness gave,
For the lessons thou hast taught us,
Can we give thee but a grave?
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the following order taken by the Committee first above named, viz: “That a place for the permanent deposit of the body of Dr. Spurzheim be prepared at Mount Auburn, in case it should not be requested to be sent to Europe by his friends and relatives; and that a monument be erected over his tomb; and for this purpose that a subscription be opened among those who are willing to pay this tribute to his memory.”
Hence the origin of the monument which has detained us so long.
We may add that the Medical Association of this city voted to attend the funeral obsequies as a body, and at the same time “resolved,” unanimously, that, “we view the decease of Dr. Spurzheim and the termination of his labors, as a calamity to mankind, and in an especial manner, to this country.”
The following Ode was written for the funeral by the Rev. Mr. Pierpont:--
Boston, Otis Broaders and Company, 1839.
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