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 lean'd him to an ancient aik,3

Whose trunk was mouldering down with years;
His locks were bleachéd white wi' time,
His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears!
And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
And as he tuned his doleful sang,
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
To echo bore the notes alang.

"Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
The relics of the vernal choir!
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
The honors of the agéd 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 agéd tree,

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

And my last hald3 of earth is gane:
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring,
Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom;
But I maun lie before the storm,

And ithers plant them in my room.
"I've seen sae monie changefu' years,
On earth I am a stranger grown;
I wander in the ways of men,
Alike unknowing and unknown:
Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved,
I bare alane my lade o' care,
For silent, low, on beds of dust,

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. "And last (the sum of a' my griefs!) My noble master lies in clay;

1 Much.-2 Taken.-3 Oak.-4 Naught.-5 Hold.

The flower 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 agéd ken, On forward wing forever fled.

"Awake thy last sad 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, involved me round; Tho' 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.

"Oh! why has worth so short a date?
While villains ripen gray with time,
Must thou, the noble, generous, great,
Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime?
Why did I live to see that day?

A day to me so full of woe!
Oh! had I met the mortal shaft
Which laid my benefactor low!

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

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And a' that thou hast done for me!"

1 Darkest.-2 See note on page 196.

LINES

Sent to Sir John Whitefoord, of Whitefoord, Bart., with the
foregoing Poem.

THOU, who thy honor as thy God rever'st,
Who, save thy mind's reproach, naught earthly fear'st,
To thee this votive offering I impart,

The tearful tribute of a broken heart.

The friend thou valued'st, I the patron loved;
His worth, his honor, all the world approved.
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,

And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown.

LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS,

ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea:

Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;

But nocht can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle,' in his noontide bower,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis' mild, wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn 's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;

1 The Blackbird.—2 The Thrush.

But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun' lie in prison strang.2

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been;
Fu" lightly raise I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en:
And I'm the Sovereign of Scotland,
And monie a traitor there:
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,

My sister and my fae,

Grim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword
That through thy soul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that drops on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,

That ne'er wad blink' on mine!

God keep the frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

Oh! soon, to me, may summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;

And the next flowers that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

1 Must.-2 Strong.—3 Full.-4 Would shine.— No more.

19

EPISTLES.

EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH.1

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul !
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society!

I owe thee much.-Blair.

2

DEAR Smith, the sleest, pawkies thief,
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,*
Ye surely hae some warlock-breefs

Owre human hearts;
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief"
Against your arts.

For me, I swear by sun and moon,
And every star that blinks aboon,
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon
Just gaun to see you;

And every ither pair that's done,

Mair taen' I'm wi' you.

That auld capricious carlins Nature,
To mak amends for scrimpit stature,
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature
On her first plan,

And in her freaks, on every feature,
She's wrote "the man."

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme,
My barmy1o noddle's working prime,
My fancy yerkit" up sublime

Wi' hasty summon:

Hae ye a leisure-moment's time

To hear what's comin'?

1

1 Then a shopkeeper in Mauchline. He afterwards went to the West Indies, where he died.

2 Pronounced slee-est, slyest.—3 Cunning.-4 Plunder.-5 Wizard-spell.• Proof. More delighted.-8 A stout old woman.-9 Scanty.-10 Like barm, or yeast.-11 Jerked, lashed.