Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, In fome auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,

What time the moon, wi' filent glow'r,

Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour

Till waukrife morn!

O, rivers, forests, hills, and plains! Oft have ye heard my canty ftrains: 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 cowflip cup fhall kep a tear:

Thou,

Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear

Shoots up its head,

Thy gay, green, flow'ry treffes fhear,

For him that's dead!

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, In grief thy fallow mantle tear!

Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air

The roaring blaft,

Wide o'er the naked world declare

The worth we've loft!

Mourn him, thou Sun, great fource of light! Mourn, Empress of the filent night!

And you, ye twinkling ftarnies bright,

My Matthew mourn!

For through your orbs he's taen his flight,

Ne'er to return.

.O, H******** ! the man! the brother! And art thou gone, and gone for ever!

And haft thou croft that unknown river,

Life's dreary bound!

Like thee, where fhall I find another,

The world around!

Go to your fculptur'd tombs, ye Great, In a' the tinfel trash o' ftate!

But by thy hone turf I'll wait,

Thou man of worth!

And weep the ae beft fellow's fate

E'er lay in earth.

THE EPITAPH.

Srop, paffenger! my ftory's brief,
And truth I shall relate, man;

I tell nae common tale o' grief,
For Matthew was a great man,

If thou uncommon merit haft,

Yet fpurn'd at Fortune's door, man; A look of pity hither caft,

For Matthew.was a poor man.

If thou a noble fodger art,

That paffeft by this grave, man, There moulders here a gallant heart; For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou on men, their works and ways, Canft throw uncommon light, man; Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, For Matthew was a bright man.

If thou at Friendship's facred ca'
Wad life itself refign, man;
Thy fympathetic tear maun fa',

For Matthew was a kind man.

If thou art ftaunch without a stain,
Like the unchanging blue, man ;
This was a kinfman o' thy ain,

For Matthew was a true man.

If thou haft wit, and fun and fire,
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, and fire,
For Matthew was a queer man.

If ony whiggifh whingin fot,

To blame poor Matthew dare, man'; May dool and forrow be his lot,

For Matthew was a rare man.

LAMENT