Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, My wailing numbers! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! Ye hazʼlly shaws and briery dens ! Or foaming strang, wi' hasty stens, Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; Ye roses on your thorny tree, At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; grouse that crap the heather-bud; Ye 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, Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! And frae my een the drapping rains 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, In a' the tinsel trash o' state! But by thy honest turf I 'll wait, Thou man of worth! And weep the ae best fellow's fate LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. JOW Nature hangs her mantle green And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phœbus cheers the crystal streams, ; But nought can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Now blooms the lily by the bank, |