ose cumb'rous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a muse in honest grief bewail?

We saw thee shine 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 nobleman 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 noble and the generous.
He died January 30, 1791, in the forty-second year of his age. James
Cunningham was succeeded in his title 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 hoary 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,
A