Classic Poem

Beneath this sacred marble ever sleeps,
For whom a father, mother, consort weeps;
Whom brothers', sisters', pious griefs pursue,
And childrens' tears with virtuous drops bedew:
The Loves and Graces grieving round appear,
Ev'n Mirth herself becomes a mourner here;
The stranger who directs his steps this way
Shall witness to thy worth, and wondering say, —
" Thy life, though short, can we unhappy call?
Sure thine was blest, for it was social all:
O may no hostile hand this place invade,
For ever sacred to thy gentle shade!
Who knew in all life's offices to please,
Join'd taste to virtue, and to virtue ease;
With riches blest, did not the poor disdain,
Was knowing, humble, friendly, great, humane;
By good men honour'd, by the bad approv'd,
And lov'd the Muses, by the Muses lov'd;
Hail! and farewell, who bore the gentlest mind,
For thou indeed hast been of human kind."