the beauty and amiability of this young lady. So strongly had her charms and Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, I see the Sire of Love on high, And own His work indeed divine. She died of consumption at the age of twenty-three. LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves; Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens ; Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres ; But, like the sun eclipsed at morning tide, Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH IN a letter to. Graham of Fintray, enclosing a copy of "The Lament," the poet Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, But nought can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bower, Now blooms the lily by the bank, I was the queen o' bonny France, And never-ending care. 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 ee. My son! my son ! may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Oh! soon to me may summer suns And the next flowers that deck the spring LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. In a letter enclosing the "Lament" to Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, sister of the earl, Burns says:-"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." THE wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods That waved 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, Whose trunk was mouldering down with years; His locks were bleachèd white with time, His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears; And as he touch'd his trembling harp, "Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, But nocht in all revolving time Can gladness bring again to me. "I am a bending agèd 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, 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: I bear alane my lade o' care, "And last (the sum of a' my griefs!) In For a' the life of life is dead, And hope has left my agèd ken, "Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! 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 mirkest gloom. "In Poverty's low barren vale Thick mists, obscure, involved me round; Though oft I 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 airThe friendless bard and rustic song Became alike thy fostering care. "Oh! why has worth so short a date, A day to me so full of woe! "The bridegroom may forget the bride The monarch may forget the crown That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; And a' that thou hast done for me!" LINES SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART., OF WHITEFOORD, WITH THE THOU, who thy honour as thy God reverest, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The friend thou valued'st, I the patron loved; His worth, his honour, all the world approved. We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone, And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. WHILE virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, While Summer, with a matron grace, Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace While Autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his agèd head, While maniac Winter rages o'er The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows: So long, sweet Poet of the year ! Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; While Scotia, with exulting tear, Proclaims that Thomson was her son! |