"Tis thy trusty quondam mate, Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, EPODE. And are they of no more avail, O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, ELEGY ON CAPT. M. HENDERSON, A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. But now his radiant course is run, His soul was like the glorious sun, O DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody! Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns; That proudly cock your cresting cairns! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns, Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, My wailing numbers! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens, Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee; At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, Come join my wail. Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; Ye grouse 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, sooty coots, and speckled teals, Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay; And when ye wing your annual way Frae our cauld shore, Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, Wham we deplore. Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! And frae my een the drapping rains Maun ever flow. VOL. I. S Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year! Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, Thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, Wide o'er the naked world declare Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light! 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, But by thy honest turf I'll wait, Thou man of worth! the ae best fellow's fate E'er lay in earth. THE EPITAPH. STOP, passenger! my story's brief; If thou uncommon merit hast, 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, If thou at friendship's sacred ca' For Matthew was a kind man. If thou art staunch without a stain, For Matthew was a true man. If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, |