The Epitaph

Trav'ler! who e'er thou art, that seek'st this tomb, And view'st with pleasure the surrounding gloom, Stay, nor to beauty's urn thy tears refuse, But let them fall like summer's sweetest dews. O long uninjur'd may this willow wave, And long protect this ever honour'd grave. For know, beneath its sadly drooping shade There rest the ashes of a lovely maid, If virtuous worth be heaven's peculiar care, She does its brightest, noblest pleasures share. Do thou, by Harriet's bright example led, The unfrequented paths of virtue tread. So shalt thou dauntless meet the power of death, And so shall hope receive thy latest breath.