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ta san&039;s elegy

an honest an&039;s the noblest work of god—pope

when this worthy old sportan went out, st uirfowl sean, he supposed it was to be, ossian&039;s phrase, “the st of his fields,” and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried the uirs on this ht the author posed his elegy and epitaph—rb, 1787

has auld kilarnock seen the deil?

or great acky thrawn his heel?

or robertn aga grown weel,

to preach an&039; read?

“na&039; waur than a&039;!” cries ilka chiel,

“ta san&039;s dead!”

kilarnock ng ay grunt an&039; grane,

an&039; sigh, an&039; sab, an&039; greet her ne,

an&039; cleed her bairns, an, wife, an&039; wean,

ourng weed;

to death she&039;s dearly pay&039;d the kane—

ta san&039;s dead!

the brethren, o&039; the ystic level

ay hg their head woefu&039; bevel,

while by their nose the tears will revel,

like ony bead;

death&039;s gien the lod an un devel;

ta san&039;s dead!

when ter uffles up his cloak,

and bds the ire like a rock;

when to the loughs the curlers flock,

wi&039; glee speed,

wha will they station at the ck?

ta san&039;s dead!

when ter uffles up his cloak,

he was the kg o&039; a&039; the re,

to guard, or draw, or wick a bore,

or up the rk like jehu roar,

ti o&039; need;

but now he gs on death&039;s hog-sre—

ta san&039;s dead!

now safe the stately sawont sail,

and trouts bedropp&039;d wi&039; crin hail,

and eels, weel-ken&039;d for uple tail,

and ds for greed,

sce, dark death&039;s fish-creel, we wail

ta san&039;s dead!

rejoice, ye birrg paitricks a&039;;

ye otie uircks, croely craw;

ye auks, ck your fud fu&039; braw

withouten dread;

your ortal fae is now awa;

ta san&039;s dead!

that woefu&039; orn be ever ourn&039;d,