12 Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year!
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear:
Thou Simmer, while each corny spear
Shoots up its head,
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear
For him that's dead!
13 Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, Winter, hurling through the air
The roaring blast,
Wide o'er the naked world declare
The worth we've lost!
14 Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light!
Mourn, Empress of the silent night!
And you, ye twinkling Sternies bright,
My Matthew mourn!
For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight,
Ne'er to return.
15 O Henderson 1 the man !-the brother! And art thou gone, and gone for ever? And hast thou cross'd that unknown river, Life's dreary bound?
Like thee, where shall I find another,
The world around?
16 Go to your sculptured 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
E'er lay in earth.
1 Stop, passenger!-my story's brief ;
And truth I shall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o' grief-
For Matthew was a great man.
2 If thou uncommon merit hast,
Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man;
A look of pity hither cast--
For Matthew was a poor man.
3 If thou a noble sodger1 art,
That passest by this grave, man:
There moulders here a gallant heart-
For Matthew was a brave man.
4 If thou on men, their works and ways,
Canst throw uncommon light, man;
Here lies wha weel had won thy praise-
For Matthew was a bright man.
5 If thou at friendship's sacred ca'
Wad life itself resign, man;
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa-
For Matthew was a kind man.
6 If thou art staunch without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man;
This was a kinsman o' thy ain
For Matthew was a true man.
Sodger: R. Chambers says that the name 'Captain' was a mere pet name conferred on Henderson. The allusion here, however, to his gallantry confutes the supposition. Ile was probably an officer retired on half-pay.
7 If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, and sire-
For Matthew was a queer man.
8 If ony whiggish, whingin' sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man ;
May dool and sorrow be his lot---
For Matthew was a rare man.
LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS,
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
1 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 naught can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
2 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' mony a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall oppress'd.
3 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;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang!
4 I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been ;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blithe lay down at e'en :
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.
5 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 the balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
6 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 thee frae thy mother's facs,
Or turn their hearts to thee:
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!
7 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!
FIRST EPISTLE TO MR GRAHAM OF FINTRY.
WHEN Nature her great masterpiece design'd,
And framed her last, best work, the human mind,
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan,
She form'd of various parts the various man.
Then first she calls the useful many forth;
Plain plodding industry, and sober worth:
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons of earth,
And merchandise' whole genus take their birth;
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds,
And all mechanics' many-apron'd kinds.
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet,
The lead and buoy are needful to the net;
The caput mortuum of gross desires
Makes a material for mere knights and squires;
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow;
She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough,
Then marks the unyielding mass with grave designs,
Law, physic, politics, and deep divines;
Last, she sublimes the Aurora of the poles,
The flashing elements of female souls.
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