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L A M E N T

FOR

JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

THE wind blew hollow frae the hills,

By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,

Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord, Whom death had all untimely taen.

He

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with

years ; His locks were bleached white with time,

His hoary cheeck was wet wi' tears ;
And as he touch'd his trembling harp,

And as he tun'd his doleful fang,
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,

To echo bore the notes alang.

“ Ye scatter'd birds that faintly fing,

“ The reliques of the vernal quire ! 16 Ye woods that shed on a' the winds

“ The honours of the aged year! A few short months, and glad and gay,

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e; * But nocht in all revolving time

“Can gladness bring again to me.

“ I am a bending aged tree,

- “ That long has stood the wind and rain; “ But now has come a cruel blast,

“ And my last hold of earth is gane :
“ Nae leaf o' mine fhall greet the spring,

“ Nae fimmer sun exalt my bloom ;
But I maun lie before the storm,
“ And îthers plant them in my room.

ca:

“ I've seen sae mony changefu' years,

“ On earth I am a stranger grown; I wander in the ways of

men, “ Alike unknowing and unknown “ Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd,

“ I bear alane my ladě o' care, “ For filent, low, on beds of dust,

“ Lie a' that wonld my sorrows share.

“ And

“ And last, (the sum of a' my griefs !)

“ My noble master lies in clay ; “ 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 fad voice, my harp!

“ The voice of woe 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; Though 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 fostering care.

"O! why has worth so short a date?

“ While villains ripen grey with time! “ Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great,

66 Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! Why did I live to see that day?

“ A day to me so full of woe? "O! had I met the mortal shaft

" Which laid my benefactor low!

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