elegy on capta atthew hendern
a ntlean who held the patent for his honours idiately fro alighty god
should the poor be fttered?—shakespeare
o death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
the ikle devil wi&039; a woodie
haurl thee ha to his bck siddie,
o&039;er hurcheon hides,
and like stock-fish e o&039;er his studdie
wi&039; thy auld sides!
he&039;s gane, he&039;s gane! he&039;s frae torn,
the ae best fellow e&039;er was born!
thee, atthew, nature&039;s sel&039; shall ourn,
by wood and wild,
where haply, pity strays forlorn,
frae an exil&039;d
ye hills, near neighbours o&039; the starns,
that proudly ck your crestg cairns!
ye cliffs, the haunts of sailg earns,
where echo sbers!
e jo, ye nature&039;s sturdiest bairns,
y wailg nubers!
ourn, ilka grove the chat kens!
ye haz&039;ly shaws and briery dens!
ye burnies, wipl&039; down your glens,
wi&039; toddl d,
or foag, strang, wi&039; hasty stens,
frae l to l
ourn, little harebells o&039;er the lea;
ye stately foxgloves, fair to see;
ye woodbes hangg bonilie,
scented bow&039;rs;
ye roses on your thorny tree,
the first o&039; flow&039;rs
at dawn, when ev&039;ry grassy bde
droops with a diaond at his head,
at ev&039;n, when beans their fragrance shed,
i&039; th&039; rtlg gale,
ye auks, whidd thro&039; the gde,
e jo y wail
ourn, ye wee ngsters o&039; the wood;
ye groe that crap the heather bud;
ye curlews, callg thro&039; a cd;
ye whistlg plover;
and ourn, we whirrg paitrick brood;
he&039;s gane for ever!
ourn, oty ots, and speckled teals;
ye fisher herons, watchg eels;
ye duck and drake, wi&039; airy wheels
circlg the ke;
ye bitterns, till the agire reels,
rair for his sake
o
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