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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