Eleg On Captain Matthew Hendersn
elegy on captain matthew henderson a gentleman who held the patent for his honours immediately from almighty god. should the poor be flattered?—shakespeare. o death! thou tyrant fell and bloody! the meikle devil wi' a woodie haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, o'er hur hides, and like stock-fish e o'er his studdie wi' thy auld sides! 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, frae man exil'd. ye hills, near neighbours o' the starns, that proudly cock your cresting s! ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns, where echo slumbers! e joiure's sturdiest bairns, my wailing numbers! mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! ye haz'ly shaws and briery dens! ye burnies, wimplin' down ylens, 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; ye woodbines hanging bonilie, ied bow'rs; ye roses on your thorny tree, the first o' flow'rs. at dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade droops with a diamond at his head, at ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed, i' th' rustling gale, ye maukins, whiddin thro' the glade, e join my wail. mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; ye grouse that crap the heather bud; ye curlews, calling thro' a clud; ye whistling plover; and mourn, we whirring paitrick brood; he's gane for ever! mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; ye fisher herons, watg eels; ye dud drake, wi' airy wheels cirg the lake; ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, rair for his sake. mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, 'mang fields o' fl clay; and when ye wing your annual way frae our claud shore, tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay, wham we deplore. ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r in some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, what time the moon, wi' silent glow'r, sets up her horn, wail thro' the dreary midnight hour, till waukrife morn! o rivers, forests, hills, and plains! oft have ye heard my ty strains; but now, what else for me remains but tales of woe; and frae my een the drapping rains maun ever flow. mourn, spring, thou darling of the year! ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear: thou, simmer, while each y 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 maear! thou, winter, hurling thro' the air the r 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, o 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 tirash o' state! but by thy hourf i'll wait, thou man of worth! ahe ae best fellow's fate e'er lay ih.