Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
173 . Elegy on Stella
S
From whence my sorrows flow;
And soundly sleeps the ever dear
Inhabitant below.
While o’er the turf I bow; Thy earthy house is circumscrib’d, And solitary now. Or make thy virtues known: But what avails to me-to thee, The sculpture of a stone? And wipe the rising tear: The chill blast passes swiftly by, And flits around thy bier. And sad their house of rest: Low lies the head, by Death’s cold arms In awful fold embrac’d. Incessant by thy side; Unseen by thee, his deadly breath Thy lingering frame destroy’d. And wither’d was thy bloom, Till the slow poison brought thy youth Untimely to the tomb. Youth, Health, and Beauty fall; The ruthless ruin spreads around, And overwhelms us all. The graves unnumber’d lie; The multitude that sleep below Existed but to die. Trod down the darksome way; And some, in youth’s lamented prime, Like thee were torn away: Their native earth receives; Amid their weeping friends they died, And fill their fathers’ graves. Was taught by Heav’n to glow, Far, far remov’d, the ruthless stroke Surpris’d and laid thee low. Wash’d by the western wave, Touch’d by thy face, a thoughtful bard Sits lonely by thy grave. The deep, outstretch’d and vast; His mourning notes are borne away Along the rapid blast. Thy hapless fate he mourns, His own long sorrows freshly bleed, And all his grief returns: And flower of beauty’s pride, His friend, his first and only joy, His much lov’d Stella, died. Resistless bears along; And the same rapid tide shall whelm The Poet and the Song. He asks not to receive; Let but his poor remains be laid Obscurely in the grave. Shall meet he welcome shock: His airy harp shall lie unstrung, And silent on the rock. Shall this sick period close, And lead the solitary bard To his belov’d repose?