| |
| HE ’S gane, he ’s gane! he ’s frae us torn, | |
| The ae best fellow e’er was born! | |
| Thee, Matthew, Nature’s sel’ shall mourn | |
| By wood and wild, | |
| Where, haply, pity strays forlorn, | 5 |
| Frae man exiled. | |
| |
| Ye hills, near neebors o’ the starns, | |
| That proudly cock your cresting cairns! | |
| Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 1 | |
| Where echo slumbers! | 10 |
| Come join, ye Nature’s sturdiest bairns, | |
| My wailing numbers! | |
| |
| Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! | |
| Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens! | |
| Ye burnies, wimplin’ down your glens, | 15 |
| Wi’ toddlin’ din, | |
| Or foaming strang, wi’ hasty stens, | |
| Frae lin to lin! | |
| |
| Mourn, little harebells o’er the lea, | |
| Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; | 20 |
| Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie | |
| In scented bowers; | |
| Ye roses on your thorny tree, | |
| The first o’ flowers. | |
| |
| At dawn, when every grassy blade | 25 |
| Droops with a diamond at his head, | |
| At even, when beans their fragrance shed, | |
| I’ the rustling gale, | |
| Ye maukins whiddin through the glade, | |
| Come join my wail. | 30 |
| |
| Mourn, ye wee songsters o’ the wood; | |
| Ye grouse that crap the heather bud; | |
| Ye curlews calling through a clud; | |
| Ye whistling plover; | |
| And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood; | 35 |
| He ’s gane forever! | |
| |
| Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, | |
| Ye fisher herons, watching eels; | |
| Ye duck and drake, wi’ airy wheels | |
| Circling the lake; | 40 |
| Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, | |
| Rair for his sake. | |
| |
| Mourn, clamoring craiks at close o’ day, | |
| ’Mang fields o’ flowering clover gay; | |
| And when ye wing your annual way | 45 |
| Frae our cauld shore, | |
| Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, | |
| Wham we deplore. | |
| |
| Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower, | |
| In some auld tree, or eldritch tower, | 50 |
| What time the moon, wi’ silent glower, | |
| Sets up her horn, | |
| Wail thro’ the dreary midnight hour | |
| Till waukrife morn. | |
| |
| O rivers, forests, hills and plains! | 55 |
| Oft have ye heard my canty strains: | |
| But now, what else for me remains | |
| But tales of wo? | |
| And frae my een the drapping rains | |
| Maun ever flow. | 60 |
| |
| Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! | |
| Ilk cowslip cup shall keep a tear: | |
| Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear | |
| Shoots up its head, | |
| Thy gay, green flowery tresses shear, | 65 |
| For him that ’s dead! | |
| |
| Thou, Autumn, wi’ thy yellow hair, | |
| In grief thy sallow mantle tear! | |
| Thou, Winter, hurling through the air | |
| The roaring blast, | 70 |
| Wide o’er the naked world declare | |
| The worth we ’ve lost. | |
| |
| Mourn him, thou sun, great source of light! | |
| Mourn, empress of the silent night! | |
| And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, | 75 |
| My Matthew mourn! | |
| For thro’ your orbs he ’s ta’en his flight, | |
| Ne’er to return. | |
| |
| O Henderson, the man! the brother! | |
| And art thou gone, and gone forever! | 80 |
| And hast thou crost that unknown river, | |
| Life’s dreary bound! | |
| Like thee where shall I find another, | |
| The world around! | |
| |
| Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, | 85 |
| In a’ the tinsel trash o’ state! | |
| But by thy honest turf I ’ll wait, | |
| Thou man of worth! | |
| And weep the ae best fellow’s fate | |
| E’er lay in earth. | 90 |
