Epitaph on Miss Caroline Campbell

O pensive PASSENGER! do not deny To pause awhile, and weep upon this tomb; For here the cold remains of CAMPBELL lie— This narrow spot the vernal Maiden's doom.

With her, alas! the fairest talents fell— And now her Harp's melodious song is o'er; Gone is that Pulse, which PITY lov'd to swell, And all her Virtues are on Earth no more.

Yes, she was gentle as the twilight breath, That on the fainting Violet's bosom blows, Meekly she bow'd her to the Frost of Death, In faded semblance of the Silver Rose.

And oft low bending o'er this hallow'd ground, Shall the pure Angel, INNOCENCE appear; And FRIENDSHIP, like a Hermit, shall be found, To bathe the circling Sod with many a Tear.