EPITAPH, INTENDED FOR HIMSELF.

Escap'd the gloom of mortal life, a soul Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay, Safe, where no cares their whelming billows roll, No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray.

Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life; Like thee, have languish'd after empty joys; Like thee, have labour'd in the stormy strife; Been griev'd for trifles, and amus'd with toys.

Yet, for awhile, 'gainst Passion's threatful blast Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar; Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore.

Forget my frailties, thou art also frail; Forgive my lapses, for thyself may'st fall; Nor read, unmov'd, my artless tender tale, I was a friend, O man! to thee, to all.