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"I am a bending aged tree,

"That long has flood the wind and rain; "But now has come a cruel blast,

"And my laft hold of earth is gane: "Nae leaf o' mine fhall greet the spring, "Nae fimmer fun exalt my bloom; "But I maun lie before the ftorm,

"And ithers plant them in my room.

"I've seen fae mony changefu' years, "On earth I am a ftranger grown;

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"I wander in the ways of men,
"Alike unknowing and unknown:
"Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd,
"I bear alane my lade o' care,

"For filent, low, on beds of duft,
"Lie a' that would my forrows fhare.

"And

"And last, (the fum of a' my griefs!)

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My noble mafter lies in clay ;

"The flow'r amang our barons bold,

"His country's pride, his country's ftay:

"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 laft fad voice, my harp! ·
"The voice of woe and wild defpair!
"Awake, refound thy lateft lay,
"Then fleep in filence evermair!

"And thou, my last, beft, only friend,
"That filleft an untimely tomb,

"Accept this tribute from the Bard

"Thou brought from fortune's mirkeft

"gloom.

" In

"In Poverty's low barren vale,

"Thick mifts, obfcure, involv'd me round; "Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye,

"Nae ray of fame was to be found: "Thou found'ft me, like the morning fun "That melts the fogs in limpid air, "The friendlefs Bard and ruftic fong, "Became alike thy foftering care.

"O! why has worth fo fhort a date?
"While villains ripen grey with time!
"Muft thou, the noble, gen'rous, great,
"Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime!
Why did I live to fee that day?
"A day to me fo full of woe?

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"O! had I met the mortal shaft

"Which laid my benefactor low!

"The

"The bridegroom may forget the bride,
"Was made his wedded wife yeftreen;
"The monarch may forget the crown
"That on his head an hour has been ;
"The mother may forget the child

"That fmiles fae fweetly on her knee; "But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,

"And a' that thou haft done for me!"

VOL. II.

N

LINES

LINE S,

Sent to Sir JOHN WHITEFORD of WHITEFORD, Baronet, with the foregoing Poem.

THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever’ft, Who, fave thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'ft,

To thee this votive off'ring I impart,

The tearful tribute of a broken heart.

The Friend thou valued'ft, I, the Patron, lov'd; His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, And tread the dreary path to that dark world

unknown.

TAM

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