The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 63

We saw thee s.h.i.+ne in youth and beauty's pride, And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres; But like the sun eclips'd 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 leck'd the woodbine sweet yon aged tree; So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.

CXXIV.

LAMENT

FOR

JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

[Burns lamented the death of this kind and accomplished n.o.bleman with melancholy sincerity: he moreover named one of his sons for him: he went into mourning when he heard of his death, and he sung of his merits in a strain not destined soon to lose the place it has taken among the verses which record the names of the n.o.ble and the generous.

He died January 30, 1791, in the forty-second year of his age. James Cunningham was succeeded in his t.i.tle by his brother, and with him expired, in 1796, the last of a race, whose name is intimately connected with the History of Scotland, from the days of Malcolm Canmore.]

I.

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: Beneath a craggy steep, a bard, Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord, Whom death had all untimely ta'en.

II.

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; His locks were bleached white with time, His h.o.a.ry cheek was wet wi' tears; And as he touch'd his trembling harp, And as he tun'd his doleful sang, The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, To echo bore the notes alang.

III.

"Ye scattered birds that faintly sing, The reliques of the vernal quire!

Ye woods that shed on a' the winds The honours of the aged year!

A few short months, and glad and gay, Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e; But nocht in all revolving time Can gladness bring again to me.

IV.

"I am a bending aged 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, Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; But I maun lie before the storm, And ithers plant them in my room.

V.

"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: Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, I bear alane my lade o' care, For silent, low, on beds of dust, Lie a' that would my sorrows share.

VI.

"And last (the sum of a' my griefs!) My n.o.ble master lies in clay; The flow'r amang our barons bold, His country's pride! his country's stay-- In weary being now I pine, For a' the life of life is dead, And hope has left my aged ken, On forward wing for ever fled.

VII.

"Awake thy last sad voice, my harp!

The voice of woe and wild despair; Awake! resound thy latest lay-- Then sleep in silence evermair!

And thou, my last, best, only friend, That fillest an untimely tomb, Accept this tribute from the bard Though brought from fortune's mirkest gloom.

VIII.

"In poverty's low barren vale Thick mists, obscure, involve 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 air, The friendless bard and rustic song Became alike thy fostering care.

IX.

"O! why has worth so short a date?

While villains ripen fray with time; Must thou, the n.o.ble, 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 woe!-- O had I met the mortal shaft Which laid my benefactor low.

X.

"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 sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me!"

CXXV.

LINES

SENT TO

SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART.,

OF WHITEFOORD.

WITH THE FOREGOING POEM.

[Sir John Whitefoord, a name of old standing in Ayrs.h.i.+re, inherited the love of his family for literature, and interested himself early in the fame and fortunes of Burns.]

Thou, who thy honour as thy G.o.d rever'st, Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st, To thee this votive offering I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart.

The friend thou valuedst, I, the patron, lov'd; His worth, his honour, 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 unknown.

CXXVI.

ADDRESS