Epitaph on Eliza Whateley

Mild as the dew, that cheers the drooping flowers,
Bright as its drops, ELIZA’S infant hours.
Ah! scarce less transiently their influence given,
They shone, but soon exhaling, rose to Heaven.
Ye dawning talents, virtues soft and kind,
That lighted and adorn’d her opening mind,
Ye leave her parents’ wounded hearts to mourn
Their hopes, their comforts, perish’d in her urn.
Religion, harbinger of endless life,
Calm thou their sorrow’s unavailing strife,
And, with blest hope that they shall meet her there,
Gild the short hours of lone privation here!