70

80

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year!
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear:
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear
Shoots up its head,

Thy gay green flow ry tresses shear
For him that's dead!

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air
The roaring blast,

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,

My Matthew mourn!

For through your orbs he's ta'en his flight,
Ne'er to return.

O Henderson! the man! the brother!
And art thou gone, and gone for ever?
And hast thou crost that unknown river,
Life's dreary bound?

Like thee, where shall I find another,
The world around?

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great,
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.

THE EPITAPH,

STOP, passenger! my story's brief,
And truth I shall relate, man;

I tell nae common tale o' grief,
For Matthew was a great man.

00

100

If thou uncommon merit hast,

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man; A look of pity hither cast,

For Matthew was a poor man.

If thou a noble sodger art,

That passest by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart; For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou on men, their works and ways,
Canst throw uncommon light, man;
Here lies wha weel had won thy praise,
For Matthew was a bright man.

If thou at friendship's sacred ca'
Wad life itself resign, man;
The sympathetic tear maun fa',

For Matthew was a kind man.

If thou art staunch without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man;
This was a kinsman o' thy ain,

For Matthew was a true man.

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire,
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man:
This was thy billie, dam, and sire,

For Matthew was a queer man.

If ony whiggish whingein' sot,
To blame poor Matthew dare, man;
May dool and sorrow be his lot,
For Matthew was a rare man.

But now his radiant course is run,
For Matthew's was a bright one;
His soul was like the glorious sun,
A matchless, Heav'nly Light, man.

110

120

130

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW.YEAR MORNING

SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGIE,

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO

HANSEL IN THE NEW YEAR.

A GUID New-Year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, there's a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho thou's howe backit now, an' knaggie,
I've seen the day,

Thou could hae gane like ony staggie
Out-owre the lay.

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy,
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisie,
I've seen thee dappled, sleek an' glaizie,

A bonnie gray:

He should been tight that daurt to raize thee,
Ance in a day.

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank,
An' set weel down a shapely shank,
As e'er tread yird;
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like ony bird.

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year,
Sin' thou was my guid-father's meere;
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear,

An' fifty mark;

Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear,
An' thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie:
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie,
Ye ne'er was donsie ;
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie,
An' unco sonsie.

10

20

30

That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride;
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride,
Wi' maiden air!

Kyle Stewart I could braggèd wide
For sic a pair.

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
An' wintle like a saumont-coble,

That day ye was a jinker noble

For heels an' win!

An' ran them till they a' did wobble

Far, far behin'.

When thou an' I were young and skeigh,
An' stable-meals at fairs were driegh,
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh
An' tak the road!

Town's-bodies ran, and stood abeigh,

An' ca't thee mad.

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow,
We took the road aye like a swallow:
At brooses thou had ne'er a fellow

For pith an' speed;

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow,
Where'er thou gaed.

The sma', droop-rumpled, hunter cattle,
Might aiblins waur'd thee for a brattle;
But sax Scotch miles, thou tried their mettle,
An' gart them whaizle:

Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle

O' saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an' I, in aucht hours' gaun,
On guid March-weather,

Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han',
For days thegither.

40

50

бо

Thou never braindg't, an' fetch't, an' fliskit,
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket,
Wi' pith an' pow'r,

Till spritty knowes wad rair't and riskit,
An' slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep,
An' threaten'd labour back to keep,

I gied thy cog a wee bit heap

Aboon the timmer;

I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep

For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;

The steyest brae thou wad hae faced it;
Thou never lap, an' stenned, and breastit,

Then stood to blaw;

But, just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Thou snoov't awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a',
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw;
Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa

That thou hast nurst:

They drew me thretteen pund an' twa,
The very warst.

Mony a sair darg we twa hae wrought,
An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
An' mony an anxious day I thought
We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we're brought,
Wi' something yet.

And think na, my auld trusty servan',
That now perhaps thou 's less deservin',
An' thy auld days may end in starvin';
For my last fou,

A heapit stimpart I'll reserve ane

Laid by for you.

70

80

90

100