AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH of MISS M—s.

AS yet 'twas fancied woes alone I sung,
 But now by real grief my lyre is strung. 
'Tis HARRIET's gentle shade demands the lay;
 Do thou MELPOMENE the tribute pay. 
Dear to the Muses, to the Graces dear,
 They all shall weep o'er HARRIET's honour'd bier. 

HARRIET who from wisdom's hallowed page
 Had snatch'd the spoil of every distant age. 
Pardon, thou honour'd shade, these untaught lays
 In which I vainly 'tempt to sing thy praise. 
Alas! no rude, no untaught verse like mine
 Is incense worthy of a HARRIET's shrine. 
An abler bard thy many virtues claim,
 An abler bard shall celebrate thy name. 
Now shall the lyre again by him be strung,
 Who in the down of life thy praises sung. 
GRAVES shall the sad, the mournful tribute pay,
 And hail thy spirit in the realms of day. 
Each female charm, each human virtue thine,
 By MANLIUS, by me, by all esteem'd divine. 
Long may we gaze on beauty's varied throng,
 And give to them the gently flowing song;
 But when, ah! when, shall we thy equal see? 
When look on her we may compare with thee? 

IN yonder shade whilst Harriet's urn we place,
 (That shade which once her charms were wont to grace)
 Behold you lovely, weeping, woe-worn train,
 The boasted pride of this our village plain;
 Who at this awful hour by sorrow led,
 Seek the drear mansions of the silent dead,
 And at a much lov'd sister's hallow'd bier,
 Pay the sad tribute of a hopeless tear;
 Whilst MANLIUS, whose generous breast is fraught
 With all the virtue Grecian sages taught,
 Midst midnight horror and funereal gloom
 Resign'd beholds a much lov'd daughter's tomb. 
Yet deem not ye that he no sorrow feels,
 'Tis true philosophy his grief conceals. 
Know on his peace this dire misfortune preys,
 And will, we dread, cut short his valu'd days. 

BUT mark yon aged venerable band
 Who round their HARRIET's grave, in sorrow stand! 
Those are the sons of poverty and woe,
 Whose tears at her command had ceas'd to flow:
 But by her death alas! their woes revive,
 Again with penury they're doom'd to strive. 
Ah! say who now shall all their grief assuage? 
Ah! say who now shall cheer their drooping age? 
MANLIUS in whose breast each virtue reigns,
 'Tis HE shall now support these aged swains,
 Shall bid their cruel fears 'their sorrows cease,
 And smooth their passage to the realms of peace. 

BUT say what form majestic now appears,
 Oppress'd by sorrow and dissolv'd in tears? 
Her sighs, her groans, her wild distracted air,
 All, all proclaim a wretched MOTHER's care. 
Now o'er the yawning grave she wildly bends,
 And now to heaven unnumber'd sighs she sends;
 Whilst both her sons sad partners of her woe,
 In silent grief their heartfelt sorrow shew. 

IN slow procession o'er the gloomy plain,
 See the sad father lead the wretched train,
 Who now in solemn silence homeward turn,
 And quit, reluctant quit, their HARRIET's urn. 
But mark! tho' chang'd the spot, not chang'd the scene,
 Nor yet their bosoms know a grief serene. 
For lo! the sight of yonder dreary walls
 Her lov'd idea and their grief recals. 
Their grief may heaven in pity soon bid cease,
 Soon may their tortur'd souls be hush'd to peace. 
May heaven-born hope direct their streaming eyes
 To those bless'd realms beyond the azure skies,
 Where HARRIET's virtues meet a bright reward
 From HEAVEN's ALMIGHTY AND ETERNAL LORD. 

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.