elegy on captain matthew henderson
a gentleman who held the patent for his honours immediately from almighty god.
should the poor be flattered?—shakespeare.
o death! thou tyrant fell and bloody!
the meikle devil wi' a woodie
haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,
o'er hurcheon hides,
and like stock-fishe o'er his studdie
wi' thy auld sides!
he's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn,
the ae best fellow e'er was born!
thee, matthew, nature's sel' shall mourn,
by wood and wild,
where haply, pity strays forlorn,
frae man exil'd.
ye hills, near neighbours o' the starns,
that proudly cock your cresting cairns!
ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns,
where echo slumbers!
 e join, ye nature's sturdiest bairns,
my wailing numbers!
mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!
ye haz'ly shaws and briery dens!
ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens,
wi' toddlin din,
or foaming, strang, wi' hasty stens,
frae lin to lin.
mourn, little harebells o'er the lea;
ye stately foxgloves, fair to see;
ye woodbines hanging bonilie,
in scented bow'rs;
ye roses on your thorny tree,
the first o' flow'rs.
at dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade
droops with a diamond at his head,
at ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed,
i' th' rustling gale,
ye maukins, whiddin thro' the glade,
 e join my wail.
mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood;
ye grouse that crap the heather bud;
ye curlews, calling thro' a clud;
ye whistling plover;
and mourn, we whirring paitrick brood;
he's gane for ever!
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,