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E LE G
A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Ho
nours immediately from Almighty God!
But now his radiant course is run,
For Matthew's course was bright;
A matchless Heav'nly Light!
O Death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
Haurl thee hame to his black fmiddie,
O’er hurcheon hides,
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 37
Wi’ thy auld sides !
he's gane! he's frae us torn,
By wood and wild, Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn,
Frae man exil'd.
Ye hills, near neebors o'the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,
Where Echo flumbers ! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,
My wailing numbers !
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! Ye hazly shaws and briery dens !
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,
Wi' toddlin din, Or foaming, ftrang, wi' hasty stens,
Frae lin to lin.
Mourn little harebells o'er the lee;
In scented bow'rs;
The first o' flow'rs.
At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade
l'th' rustling gale, Ye maukins whiddin thro’ the glade,
Come join my wail.
Mourn, ye wee fongsters o’ the wood ;
Ye whistling plover;
Mourn, footy coots, and speckled teals ;
Circling the lake;
Rair for his fake.
Mourn, clam’ring craiks at clofe o" day, 'Mang fields o’ flow'ring clover 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 bow'r,
Sets up her horn,
Till waukrife morn!
0, rivers, forrests, hills, and plains ! Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 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 cowslip cup shall kep a tear: