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How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd! How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd! If sorrow and anguish their exit await,
From friendship and dearest affection remov'd, How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate,
Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unlov'd! Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you; So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear; But come all ye offspring of Folly so true,
And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower, We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed; But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower,
For none e'er approach'd her but rued the rash deed.
We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay;
Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect,
ELEGY ON MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO.
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,
As Burnet, lovely, from her native skies;
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shewn,
Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth,
We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.
The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,
ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ.
No more, ye warblers of the wood no more,
How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend:
How can I to the tuneful strain attend? That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where
Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe,
ON THE DEATH OF
SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR.
THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare
Lone, as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,
Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ; Ormus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd well, Or mould'ring ruins mark'd the sacred fane ;* Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky, The groaning trees untimely shed their locks,
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye; The paly moon rose in the livid east,
And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately form, In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast,
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd: Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, The light'ning of her eye in tears imbued.
The King's Park, at Holyrood-house.
Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,
With accents wild and lifted arms she criedLow lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride! A weeping country joins a widow's tear,
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; The drooping Arts surround their Patron's bier, And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh. I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow; But, ah! how hope is born but to expire! Relentless Fate has laid this Guardian low. My patriot falls—and shall he lie unsung, While empty greatness saves a worthless name? No; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, And future ages hear his growing fame. And I will join a mother's tender cares, Thro' future times to make his virtues last, That distant years may boast of other Blairs.'She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast.
ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER,
THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ. Brother to a Young Lady, a particular friend of the Author's. SAD thy tale, thou idle page,
And rueful thy alarms:
Death tears the brother of her love
From Isabella's arms.
Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow;
But cold, successive noontide blasts
Fate oft tears the bosom chords
Dread Omnipotence alone
Can heal the wound he gave;
CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON,
A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God!
But now his radiant course is run,
O DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,"
O'er hurcheonx hides,
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie!
u A halter.
Wi' thy auld sides!
y An anvil.-An allusion is here had to the beating of dried stock-fish, to make them tender.