« ПретходнаНастави »
A last request permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a', One round, I ask it with a tear,
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.
O DEATH ! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
O'er hurcheon hides,
Wi'thy auld sides ! .
By wood and wild,
Frae man exil'd.
Where echo slumbers ! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,
My wailing numbers.! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! Ye bazly sbaws and briery dens ! Ye burnies wimplin down your glens,
Wi' toddlin din,
Frae lin to lin.
In scented bow'rs;
The first o' flow'rs.
I'th' rustling gale,
Come join my wail.
Ye whistling plover; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood;
He's gane for ever!
Circling the lake;
Rair for his sake. Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'Mang fields o’ flow'ring clover gay; And when ye wing your annual way
Frae our cauld shore, Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay,
Wham we deplore.
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r,
Sets up her horn,
Till waukrife morn
! O rivers, forests, bills, and plains.! Oft have ye heard my canty strains, But now, what else for me remains
But tales of woe?
Maun eyer flow.
Shoots up its head,
For him that's dead! Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, Io grief thy sallow mantle tear! Thou winter, hurling thro’ the air
The roaring blast, Wide o'er the naked world declare
The worth we've lost Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light! Mourn, empress of the silent night! And you, ye twinkling starnies bright,
My Matthew mourn! For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight,
Ne'er to return. O Henderson the man! the brother ! And art thou gone, and gone for ever! And hast thou crost that unknown river,
Life's dreary bound ! Like thee, where I shall find anither,
The world around !
Go to your sculptur’d tombs, ye Great,
But by thy honest turf I'll wait,
Thou man of worth ! And weep the ae best fellow's fate
E’er lay in earth.
And truth I shall relate, man;
For Matthew was a great man.
Yet spurn’d at fortune's door, mas,
For Matthew was a poor man.
That passest by this grave, mang
For Matthew was a brave man.
Canst throw uncommon light, man,
For Matthew was a bright man.
Wad life itself resign, man,
For Matthew was a kind man.
Like the unchanging blue, man,
For Matthew was a true man.
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man,
For Matthew was a queer man.
If ony whiggish whiggin sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man,
For Matthew was a rare man.
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOT3,
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
Out o'er the grassy lea:
And glads tbe azure skies ;
That fast in durance lies.
Aloft on dewy wing ;
Makes woodland echoes ring ;
Sings drowsy day to rest:
Wi’ care nor thrall opprest.
The primrose down the brae;
And milk-white is the slae :
May rove their sweets amang;
Maun lie in prison strang.
Where happy I hae been;