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elegy on “stel”

the follog poe is the work of hapless n of the es who deserved a better fate there is a great deal of “the voice of na” his litary, ournful notes; and had the sentints been clothed shenstone&039;s ngua, they would have been no discredit even to that elegant poet—rb

strait is the spot and green the d

fro whence y rrows flow;

and undly sleeps the ever dear

habitant below

pardon y transport, ntle shade,

while o&039;er the turf i bow;

thy earthy hoe is circuscrib&039;d,

and litary now

not one poor stone to tell thy na,

or ake thy virtues known:

but what avails to —to thee,

the sculpture of a stone?

i&039;ll sit down upon this turf,

and wipe the risg tear:

the chill bst passes swiftly by,

and flits around thy bier

dark is the dwellg of the dead,

and sad their hoe of rest:

low lies the head, by death&039;s ld ars

awful fold ebrac&039;d

i saw the gri avenr stand

cessant by thy side;

unseen by thee, his deadly breath

thy lrg fra destroy&039;d

pale grew the roses on thy cheek,

and wither&039;d was thy bloo,

till the slow poin brought thy youth

untily to the tob

th wasted are the ranks of n—

youth, health, and beauty fall;

the ruthless ru spreads around,

and overwhels all

behold where, round thy narrow hoe,

the graves unnuber&039;d lie;

the ultitude that sleep below

existed but to die

, with the totterg steps of a,

trod down the dark way;

and , youth&039;s nted pri,

like thee were torn away:

yet these, however hard their fate,

their native earth receives;

aid their weepg friends they died,

and fill their fathers&039; graves

fro thy lov&039;d friends, when first thy heart

was taught by heav&039;n to glow,

far, far reov&03