How frail is human life! in youthful bloom,
The virtuous H — — — tt moulders in the tomb:
Lost to Society that blameless mind,
That felt a sister's love for human kind —
The pleasing converse, and the decent ease,
Which ever made her modest manners please.
Involv'd in gloom the mystic future lies —
Let Man submit to Providence allwise:
Haply, Misfortune, envious of her joy,
Hasted, her blooming pleasures to destroy —
Tho' prosperous her spring, her summer might
Have wither'd in Adversity's fell blight;
But, Death remov'd her from the doubtful strife,
From all the pleasures and the pains of life.
Yet, gay the coming hours in prospect shone,
Which Hope had deck'd in raiment all her own —
True Love preper'd the nectar'd cup of Joy,
And, smiling, with the sparkling draught drew nigh;
But, pale Disease assail'd her roseate health,
As the fierce robber grasps another's wealth,
And, whilst her lover hasten'd to her aid,
Low, low, in death, the blameless victim laid.
Ye lovely inmates of her youthful hours!
Whilst ye assemble — fair as vernal flow'rs —
Let your soft bosoms swell with Sorrow's sighs,
For the lost friend, who shar'd your blameless joys.
Once, beautiful, like you, she danc'd along,
And was the loveliest of the lively throng;
But, now she sleeps, unconscious, in the tomb,
Conceal'd by parent Earth, in silent gloom.
Revere her virtues, her remembrance prize,
Whils the pure tears of Friendship fill your eyes.