E O “S ”（2 / 2）

9;d, the ruthless stroke

surpris&039;d and id thee low

at the st liits of our isle,

wash&039;d by the western wave,

touch&039;d by thy face, a thoughtful bard

sits lonely by thy grave

pensive he eyes, before hi spread

the deep, outstretch&039;d and vast;

his ourng notes are borne away

along the rapid bst

and while, aid the silent dead

thy hapless fate he ourns,

his own long rrows freshly bleed,

and all his grief returns:

like thee, cut off early youth,

and flower of beauty&039;s pride,

his friend, his first and only joy,

his uch lov&039;d stel, died

hi, too, the stern ipulse of fate

resistless bears along;

and the sa rapid tide shall whel

the poet and the ng

the tear of pity which he sheds,

he asks not to receive;

let but his poor reas be id

obscurely the grave

his grief-worn heart, with truest joy,

shall et he wele shock:

his airy harp shall lie unstrung,

and silent on the rock

o, y dear aid, y stel, when

shall this sick period close,

and lead the litary bard

to his belov&039;d repose?