y youth,
and flower of beauty's pride,
his friend, his first and only joy,
his much lov'd stel, died.
him, too, the stern impulse of fate
resistless bears along;
and the same rapid tide shall whelm
the poet and the song.
the tear of pity which he sheds,
he asks not to receive;
let but his poor remains be id
obscurely in the grave.
his grief-wor, with truest joy,
shall meet he wele shock:
his airy harp shall lie unstrung,
and silent on the rock.
o, my dear maid, my stel, when
shall this sick period close,
ahe solitary b
Elegy On “Stella”(5/6)