GENERAL CONWAY's ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MISS CAROLINE CAMPBELL, Daughter of the RIGHT HON. WILLIAM CAMPBELL

Since 'tis the will of all-disposing Heav'n, To seize the boon its kinder hand had given: Whether on earth thy friendly spirit rove, Midst the once happy partners of thy love; (Scenes where thy virtues reign'd, thy talents shone, And fond affection made each heart thy own;) Or, bounding swift, has wing'd its airy flight To the pure regions of eternal light; Look down, fair Saint, and O, with pity see, Where sad Remembrance lifts each thought to thee. Accept the heaving sigh, the trickling tear; The last, best offerings of a heart sincere. What tho' no costly hecatcombs should bleed, Nor lengthen'd train in sable pomp succeed; Yet shall the sweetest flow'rs thy grave adorn, Wash'd by the kindliest tears of dewy morn. There shall each friend, thy heav'nly virtues made, With pious dirge invoke thy gentle shade; Like fragrant incense the soft breath shall rise And smooth thy passage to thy kindred skies.

Severely kind, O why did adverse fate Grant such vast bounties with so scant a date? Give such sweet fragrance to this short-liv'd flow'r, The virtues of an age to last an hour! It gave her wit might grace a Muse's tongue, The charm of numbers, and the power of song; Th' angelic touch to strike the trembling string, And tune such notes as Heav'n's own seraphs sing. But O! o'er-bounteous with that sacred art, It gave each nicer movement to the heart; And her soft breast with strong sensation fir'd, Felt the keen impulse which those arts inspir'd. Too great a portion of celestial flame Strain'd the frail texture of her weaker frame; The subtle fire too pow'rful forc'd its way Through the soft yielding mould of mortal clay; As the clear air in crystal prison pent, Oft bursts its fair but brittle tenement; While in the dust the glittering fragments lie, The purer aether gains its native sky.

Ere the stern Sisters cut the vital thread, I saw, and kiss'd her on the fatal bed, Just as her gentle spirit took its slight, And her faint eye-lids clos'd in endless night; No strong convulsions shook her parting breath; No tremors mark'd the cold approach of Death: Her heart still heav'd with vital spirit warm, And each soft feature wore its wonted charm.

Ah me! in this perplexing maze of fate; This doubtful, erring, varying restless state; Tho' guilt with swelling fail elate shall steer, With pomp and pleasure crown'd, its full career; Tho' worth like thine no pitying power shall save, From sickness, pain, and an untimely grave: Yet stay, rash mortal, nor presume to scan, By thy imperfect rule th' Almighty's plan. O censure not his Sovereign, high behest, But prostrate own, whatever is, is best: Judgment's the part of Heav'n; Submission, thine: We may lament; but we must not repine. Each has his lot (for so does Heaven ordain) His stated share of happiness and pain; And mortals, best its just commands fulfil, When they enjoy the good, and patient bear the ill.