He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn, The ae beft fellow e'er was born!

Thee, Matthew, Nature's fel fhall mourn

By wood and wild,

Where, haply, Pity ftrays forlorn,,

Frae man exil'd.

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, That proudly cock your crefting cairns ;) Ye cliffs, the haunts of failing yearns,

Where Echo flumbers.

Come join, ye Nature's flurdiest bairns,

My wailing numbers.

Mourn, ilka grove

the cufhat kens;

Ye hazly fhaws and briery dens;

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,

Wi' toddlin din,

Or foaming, frang, wi' hafty ftens,

Frae lin to lin.

Mourn little harebells o'er the lee ;

Ye ftately fox-gloves fair to fee;

Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie,

In fcented bowers;

Ye rofes on your thorny tree,

The first o' flowers.

At dawn, when every graffy blade
Droops with a diamond at his head,
At even, when beans their fragrance fhed,

I' th' ruftling gale,

Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade,

Come join my wail.

Mourn, ye wee fongfters o' the wood;
Ye groufs that crap the heather bud;
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud;

Ye whistling plover;

And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood;

He's gane for ever!

Mourn, footy coots, and fpeckled teals;

Ye fisher herons, watching eels;

Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels

Circling the lake:

Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,

Rair for his fake.

Mourn, clamouring craiks at clofe o' day,

'Mang fields o' flowering claver gay;

And when ye wing your

annual way

Frae our cauld fhore,

Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay,

Wham we deplore.

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower,
In fome auld tree, or eldritch tower,
What time the moon, wi' filent glowr,

Sets up her horn,

Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour

Till waukrife morn.

O, rivers, forefts, hills, and plains! Oft have ye heard my canty ftrains : But now, what else for me remains

But tales of woe;

And frae my een the drapping rains

Maun ever flow,

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year;

Ilk cowflip cup shall kep a tear:

Thou, Simmer, while each corny Spear

Shoots up its head,

Thy gay, green, flowery trettes fhear,

For him that's dead.

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow.hair,
In grief thy fallow mantle tear;
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air

The roaring blaft,

Wide o'er the naked world declare

The worth we've loft.

Mourn him thou Sun, great fource of light; Mourn, Emprefs of the filent night: And you, ye twinkling ftarnies bright,

My Matthew mourn;

For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight,
Ne'er to return.

O, H*********! the man! the brother! And art thou gone, and gone for ever! And haft thou croft that unknown river,

Life's dreary bound!

Like thee, where fhall I find another,

The world around!

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great,

In a' the tinfel trash o' ftate!

But by thy honeft turf I'll wait,

And weep the ae beft fellow's fate

Thou man of worth!

E'er lay in earth.

THE EPITAPH.

Stop, paffenger! my ftory's brief,
And truth I fhall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o' grief,
For Matthew was a great man,

If thou uncommon merit haft,

Yet fpurn'd at Fortune's door, man; A look of pity hither caft,

For Matthew was a poor man,

If thou a noble fodger art,

That paffeft by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou on men, their works and ways, Canft throw uncommon light, man; Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, For Matthew was a bright man.

If thou at Friendship's facred ca
Wad life itself resign man;
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa',
For Matthew was a kind man !

If thou art flaunch without a flain,
Like the unchanging blue man;
This was a kinfman o' thy ́ain,

For Matthew was a true man.

A

If thou haft wit, and fun and fire,
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, and fire,

For Matthew was a queer man.