Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train,

Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain:
In equanimity they never dwell,

By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell.
"I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe,
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear!
Already one stronghold of hope is lost,
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust;
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears,
And left us darkling in a world of tears :)
Oh! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r!
Fintry, my other stay, long bless and spare!
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown,
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down!
May bliss domestic smooth his private path;
Give energy to life; and sooth his latest breath,
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death!

LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.1

THE wind blew hollow frae the hills,

By fits the sun's departing beam

Look'd on the fading yellow woods

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:

Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,

Laden with years and meikle pain,

In loud lament bewail'd his lord,

Whom death had all untimely ta'en.

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,2

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years;
His locks were bleached white with time,

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears;

"Had the wing of my fancy been equal to the ardour of my heart, the enclosed had been much more worthy your perusal as it is, I beg leave to lay it at your ladyship's feet. As all the world knows my obligations to the late Earl of Glencairn, I would wish to show as openly that my heart glows, and shall ever glow, with the most grateful sense and remembrance of his lordship's goodness. The sables I did myself the honour to wear to his lordship's memory were not the 'mockery of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude perish with me:-If, among my children, I shall have a son that has a heart, he shall hand it down to his child as a family honour and a family debt, that my dearest existence I owe to the noble house of Glencairn! I was about to say, my lady, that if you think the poem may venture to see the light, I would, in some way or other give it to the world."-Lord Glencairn died January 30, 1791, and Burns sent the "Lament" to the Earl's sister, Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, with a letter, of which the above passage is an extract.

2 Oak.

And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
And as he tun'd his doleful sang,
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 hold 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 ithers2 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 evermair!

And thou, my last, best, only friend,
That fillest an untimely tomb,
Accept this tribute from the Bard

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest1 gloom

"In Poverty's low barren vale

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round;
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye,
No 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 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!

"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 WHİTEFORD, OF WHITE-
FORD, BART.,2 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 off'ring I impart,

The tearful tribute of a broken heart.

1 Darkest.

2 An early friend of Burns', who gratefully acknowledged his interest in his fate as a man, and his fame as a poet.