From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, LAMENT OF A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart; And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops, So fell the pride of all my hopes, The mother linnet, in the brake, Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow LAMENT FOR JAMES EARL OF GLENCAIRN. THE wind blew Lollow frae the hills, That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream; Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord, Whom death had all untimely ta'en. He lean'd him to an ancient aik, Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years, His locks were bleached white wi' time, His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears! And as he touch'd his trembling harp, And as he tun'd his doleful sang, The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, To Echo bore the notes alang. "Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, "I am a bending, aged tree, That long has stood the wind and rain But now has come a cruel blast, And my last hald of earth is gane; And ithers plant them in my room. "I've seen sae monie changefu' years, Alike unknowing and unknown: I bear alane my lade o' care, For silent, low, on beds of dust, Lie a' that would my sorrows share. And last, (the sum of a' my griefs!) The flow'r amang our barons bold, His country's pride, his country's stay; In weary being now I pine, For a' the life of life is dead, And hope has left my aged ken, On forward wing for ever fled. "Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! The voice of wo and wild despair! Awake! resound thy latest lay, Then sleep in silence evermair! And thou, my last, best, only friend, That fillest an untimely tomb, Accept this tribute from the bard Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. "In poverty's low, barren vale, Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round Tho' oft I turn'd the wistful eye, Nae ray of fame was to be found: Thou found'st me, like the morning sun That melts the fogs in limpid air; The friendless bard, and rustic song, Became alike thy fost'ring care. "Oh! why has worth so short a date? "The bridegroom may forget the bride Was made his wedded wife yestreen; The monarch may forget the crown That on his head an hour has been; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remen ber thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me " LINES, SENT TO SIR JOHN WHIteford, of whiteford, bart. WITH THE FOREGOING POEM. THOU who thy honor as thy God rever❜st, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, To thee this votive off'ring I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The friend thou valued'st, I the patron iov'd; We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. THICKEST night o'erhangs my dwelling! Crystal streamlets gently flowing, In the cause of right engaged, |