Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,

Wi' toddlin din,

Or foaming, ftrang, wi' hafty ftens,
Frae lin to lin.

Mourn little harebells o'er the lee;

Ye ftately foxgloves fair to fee;

Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie,

In fcented bow'rs;

Ye roses on your thorny tree,

The firft o' flow'rs.

At dawn, when ev'ry graffy blade
Droops with a diamond at his head,

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance fhed,

I' th' ruftling gale,

Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade,

Come join my wail.

Mourn,

Mourn, ye wee fongfters o' the wood;
Ye groufs 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, footy coots, and fpeckled teals; Ye fisher herons, watching eels;

Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels

Circling the lake;

Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,

Rair for his fake.

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flow'ring claver 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,
In fome auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,
What time the moon, wi' filent glowr,

Sets up her horn,

Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour

Till waukrife morn!

O, rivers, forefts, hills, and plains! Oft have ye heard my canty ftrains: 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 cowflip cup fhall kep a tear:

Thou,

Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear

Shoots up its head,

Thy gay, green, flow'ry treffes fhear,

For him that's dead!

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, In grief thy fallow mantle tear!

Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air

The roaring blast,

Wide o'er the naked world declare

The worth we've loft!

Mourn him thou Sun, great fource of light! Mourn, Empress of the filent night! And you, ye twinkling ftarnies bright,

My Matthew mourn!

For through your orbs he's taen his flight,

O, H********! the man! the brother! And art thou gone, and gone for ever! And haft thou croft that unknown river,

Life's dreary bound!

Like thee, where fhall I find another,

The world around!

Go to your fculptur'd tombs, ye Great,

In a' the tinfel trash o' state!

But by thy honeft turf I'll wait,

Thou man of worth

And weep the ae beft fellow's fate

E'er lay in earth.

THE EPITAPH.

STOP, paffenger! my ftory's brief,
And truth I fhall relate, man;

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