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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; Tho' 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. “O! why has worth so short a date?
While villains ripen gray 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 wo! 0! 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 săe sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,
And a' that thou hast done for me!!!
SENT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WHITE
With the foregoing Poem. Thou who thy honour as thy God rever’st, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly To thee this votive offering I impart, [fear'st, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The friend thou valued'st, I the patron lov'd: His worth, his honor, 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 un
THICKEST night o'erhangs my dwelling!
Howling tempest's o'er me rave!
Still surround my lonely cave.
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Suit not my distracted mind.
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
But the Heavens deny'd success.
Not a hope that dare attend,
But a world without a friend!
THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning; The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the
vale; The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care? No flowers gayly springing, nor birds sweetly
singing, Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair.
The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice,
A king and a father to place on his throne ? His right are these hills, and his right are these
vallies, Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find
But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn, My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn;
'Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, Alas! can I make you no sweeter return!
HIS NATIVE COUNTRY.
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
IV. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends! "farewell my foes! My peace with these, my love with thoseThe bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonie banks of Ayr.
FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.
SCENES of wo and sceres of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew, Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu !