O DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
The meikle devil wi a woodie
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,
Oer hurcheon hides,
And like stock-fish come oer his studdie
Wi thy auld sides!
Hes gane, hes gane! hes frae us torn,
The ae best fellow eer was born!
Thee, Matthew, Natures sel shall mourn,
By wood and wild,
Where haply, Pity strays forlorn,
Frae man exild.
Ye hills, near neighbours o the starns,
That proudly cock your cresting cairns!
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns,
Where Echo slumbers!
Come join, ye Natures sturdiest bairns,
My wailing numbers!
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!
Ye hazly shaws and briery dens!
Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens,
Wi toddlin din,
Or foaming, strang, wi hasty stens,
Frae lin to lin.
Mourn, little harebells oer the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves, fair to see;
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie,
In scented bowrs;
Ye roses on your thorny tree,
The first o flowrs.
At dawn, when evry grassy blade
Droops with a diamond at his head,
At evn, when beans their fragrance shed,
I th rustling gale,
Ye maukins, whiddin thro the glade,
Come 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;
Hes gane for ever!
Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals;
Ye fisher herons, watching eels;
Ye duck and drake, wi airy wheels
Circling the lake;
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,
Rair for his sake.
Mourn, clamring craiks at close o day,
Mang fields o flowring clover gay;
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 bowr
In some auld tree, or eldritch towr,
What time the moon, wi silent glowr,
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro the dreary midnight hour,
Till waukrife morn!
O rivers, forests, hills, and plains!
Oft have ye heard my canty 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 corny spear
Shoots up its head,
Thy gay, green, flowry tresses shear,
For him thats dead!
Thou, Autumn, wi thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, Winter, hurling thro the air
The roaring blast,
Wide oer the naked world declare
The worth weve 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 hes taen his flight,
Neer to return.
O Henderson! the man! the brother!
And art thou gone, and gone for ever!
And hast thou crost that unknown river,
Lifes dreary bound!
Like thee, where shall I find another,
The world around!
Go to your sculpturd tombs, ye Great,
In a the tinsel trash o state!
But by thy honest turf Ill wait,
Thou man of worth!
And weep the ae best fellows fate
Eer lay in earth.
