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The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
To echo bore the notes alang.

"Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
"The reliques of the vernal quire!
"Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
"The honours of the aged 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 aged tree,

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

"And my last hald 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 mony changefu' years,
"On earth I am a stranger grown;
"I wander in the ways of men,
"Alike unknowing and unknown:
"Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd,

"I bear 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;

"The flow'r 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 aged ken, "On forward wing for ever fled.

"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp!
"The voice of woe and wild despair!
"Awake, resound thy latest lay,
"Then sleep in silence everinair!
"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, involv'd me round; "Though oft 1 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.

"O! why has worth so short a date?
"While villains ripen grey with time!
"Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great,

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime! "Why did I live to see that day?

"A day to me so full of woe! "O! had I met the mortal shaft

"Which laid my benefactor low!

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"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!"

LINES

SENT TO

SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, OF WHITEFOORD,

BART.

WITH THE FOREGOING POEM.

THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever'st,
Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought 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 lov'd;
His worth, his honour, all the world approv'd.
We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone,

And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown.

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Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke.

GAWIN DOUGLAS.

3

WHEN chapmen billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An' folk begin to tak the gate;
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,.
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr, ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonny lasses.)

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise,
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;

That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on;
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on:
That at the L-d's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean tii Monday.
She prophesy'd, that late or soon,

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlock's in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me grect, To think how mony counsels sweet, How mony lengthen'd sage advices,. The husband frae the wife despises !

But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ;
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter:
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious;
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious;
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:

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