Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour "Till waukrife morn! O, rivers, forests, hills, and plains! And frae my een the drapping rains Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year! Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: Thou, simmer, while each corny spear Shoots up its head, Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, The roaring blast, Wide o'er the naked world declare The worth we've lost! Mourn 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, O, Henderson! the man! the brother! Like thee, where shall I find another, Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great, In a' the tinsel trash o' state! 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. THE THE EPІТАРН. STOP, passenger! my story's brief, I tell nae common tale o' grief, If thou uncommon merit hast, Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man; A look of pity hither cast, For Matthew was a poor man. If thou a noble sodger art, That passest by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart; For Matthew was a brave man. If thou on men, their works and ways, VOL. III. T If If thou at friendship's sacred ca' If thou art staunch without a stain, If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, If ony whiggish whingin sot, To blame poor Matthew dare, man; May dool and sorrow be his lot, For Matthew was a rare man. LAMENT |