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, clam'ring craiks, at close o' day, 'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay! And when ye wing your annual way

Frae our cauld shore,

Tell thae far worlds wha lies in clay,
Wham we deplore.

Ye howlets, frae your ivy bower,
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower,
What time the moon, wi' silent glower,

Sets up her horn,

Wail through the weary midnight hour
Till waukrife morn!

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains!
Oft have ye heard my cantie 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 his head,

Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear,
For him that's dead!

Then autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear!
Thou, winter, hurling through the air
The roaring blast,

Wide o'er the naked world declare

The worth we've 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 he's taen his flight,
Ne'er to return.

O Henderson! the man! the brother!

And art thou gone, and gone for ever?

Life's dreary bound?

Like thee, where shall I find another,

The world around?

Beneath his shade

Securely laid,

The dead alone find true repose.

Then, while we mingle dust with dust,
To One, supremely good and wise,
Raise hallelujahs! God is just,

And man most happy when he dies!
His winter past,

Fair spring at last

Receives him on her flowery shore, Where pleasure's rose Immortal blows,

And sin and sorrow are no more!

DAVID MALLETT.

GANE WERE BUT THE WINTER

CAULD.

GANE were but the winter cauld, And gane were but the snaw, I could sleep in the wild woods, Where primroses blaw.

Cauld's the snaw at my head,

And cauld at my feet,

And the finger o' death's at my een, Closing them to sleep.

Let nane tell my father,

Or my mither sae dear;

I'll meet them baith in heaven

At the spring o' the year.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

CORONACH.

509

LOED BYRON

He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,

Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
The font re-appearing

From the rain-drops shall borrow; But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing,

Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,

When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever. SIR WALTER SCOTT.

DIRGE.

"On dig a grave, and dig it deep,
Where I and my true-love may sleep!"
We'll dig a grave, and dig it deep,
Where thou and thy true love shall sleep!

"And let it be five fathom low,
Where winter winds may never blow!"

And it shall be five fathoms low,
Where winter winds shall never blow!

"And let it be on yonder hill,
Where grows the mountain daffodil!"
And it shall be on yonder hill,
Where grows the mountain daffodil !
"And plant it round with holy briers,
To fright away the fairy fires!"

We'll plant it round with holy briers,
To fright away the fairy fires!

"And set it round with celandine,
And nodding heads of columbine!"
We'll set it round with celandine,
And nodding heads of columbine!
"And let the ruddock build his nest
Just above my true-love's breast!"-

The ruddock he shall build his nest
Just above thy true-love's breast!—
"And warble his sweet wintry song
O'er our dwelling all day long!"

And he shall warble his sweet song
O'er your dwelling all day long.

"Now, tender friends, my garments take, And lay me out for Jesus' sake!"

And we will now thy garments take,
And lay thee out for Jesus' sake!

"And lay me by my true-love's side,
That I may be a faithful bride!"

We'll lay thee by thy true-love's side,
That thou may'st be a faithful bride!

"When I am dead, and buried be, Pray to God in heaven for me!"

Now thou art dead, we'll bury thee, And pray to God in heaven for thee! Benedicite!

WILLIAM STANLEY ROSCOE.