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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, That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care!
So decked the woodbine sweet yon aged tree; So from it ravished, leaves it bleak and bare.
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
“The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I was busy with Percy's Reliques of English Poetry.". Burns, February, 1791.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
The merle, in his noontide bower,
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
May rove their sweets amang; But I, the queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang!
I was the queen o' bonny France,
But as for thee, thou false woman!
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of wo
My son! my son! may kinder stars
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
O soon to me may summer suns
And in the narrow house o' death
And the next flowers that deck the spring
THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.
"You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, 'There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.' When political combustion ceases to be the object of princes and patriots, it then, you know, becomes the lawful prey of historians and poets.” — Burns to Mr. Cunningham, 12th March, 1791.
By yon castle wa', at the close of the day,
And as he was singing, the tears fast down
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, And now I greet round their green beds in weep the yerd:
It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld dame,
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. Now life is a burden that bows me down, Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; lost But till my last moments my words are the
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!
LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.
At the close of January, Burns met a serious loss, both as respecting his fortunes and his feelings, in the death of his amiable patron James, Earl of Glencairn, who, after returning from a futile voyage to Lisbon in search of health, died at Falmouth, in the forty-second year of his age. The deep, earnest feeling of grati-. tude which Burns bore towards this nobleman is highly creditable to him. He put on mourning for the earl, and designed, if possible, to attend his funeral in Ayrshire. At a later time, he entered a permanent record of his gratitude in the annals of his family, by calling a son James Glencairn.
THE wind blew hollow frae the hills,