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The clock strikes twelve !-prophetic'ly revealing
The awful twelve of Nature hastens on:

Soon must I hear its dismal thunders pealing,
And her tremendous, deep expiring groan;
Oh! for that august unexampled hour
Prepare thou me, O thou Eternal Power!

ELEGY ON THE MEMORY OF JOHN BROWN,

Of Coldstream, Newtown.

"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord."-Rev. xiv. 13.

ULD Johnny's win awa at last,

Frae simmer's heat and winter's blast:

Life's toils and troubles a' are past

Wi' him for ever,

Wha in auld Lennel snoozes fast,

By Tweed's fair river.

O mourn, Newtown, baith lang and sair!
Your douce, auld trusty frien's nae mair;
What can on earth the slap repair

That Death has made,

When Johnny's snug bit biggin there
He did invade ?

For mother wit and worth, true fame
Has wi' a halo crown'd his name;

His faith and hope were free frae blame,
And richly given;

While young

and auld can test they came

Direct frae heaven.

His gashin' jokes nae mair we'll hear-
His cracks and stories, odd and queer,
Which neebours round did a' revere,
Sa hamely spun;

His like, I doubt, will ne'er appear
Aneth the sun.

Nae mair he'll wander by Tweedside,
Where Nature smiles in flowery pride,
And ee the rowin' spated tide,

Wi' his bit creel,

Nor wi' the samont hameward glide

Packed snod and weel.

Mourn, Lennel Haugh, your frien's awa; And great Haugh now your sorrow shaw; And dreeper, twizel, boat and a',

O loudly wail!

And thou unequalled lovely Craw,

Lament my tale.

Ye trees that skirt yon rocky brae,
Ye whin-clad heights, your dool display;

Ilk cowslip that bedecked his way
Now hang thy head;

And ilka primrose tribute pay

To him that's dead.

To swell the dirge, ye warbling thrang, Changed be your notes o' praise and sang; For woe and wailing loud and lang

Till echo frae

The hail day through,
yon woods amang
Respond to you.

But Time her sceptred reign shall yield, And vanquished Death shall quit the field, The trumpet tout, when a' concealed

In earth and sea

Shall burst the doors the tyrant sealed,
And be set free.

Then shall our honest Johnny rise,
And wi' the just shall share the prize,
Ayont the stars that gem the skies,
Where joys abound,

And tears nae mair bedim the eyes
O' a' around.

E

For mother wit and worth, true fame
Has wi' a halo crown'd his name;

His faith and hope were free frae blame,
And richly given;

While young

and auld can test they came

Direct frae heaven.

His gashin' jokes nae mair we'll hear—
His cracks and stories, odd and queer,
Which neebours round did a' revere,
Sa hamely spun;

His like, I doubt, will ne'er appear
Aneth the sun.

Nae mair he'll wander by Tweedside,
Where Nature smiles in flowery pride,
And ee the rowin' spated tide,

Wi' his bit creel,

Nor wi' the samont hameward glide

Packed snod and weel.

Mourn, Lennel Haugh, your frien's awa; And great Haugh now your sorrow shaw; And dreeper, twizel, boat and a',

O loudly wail!

And thou unequalled lovely Craw,

Lament my tale.

Ye trees that skirt yon rocky brae,
Ye whin-clad heights, your dool display;

Ilk cowslip that bedecked his way
Now hang thy head;

And ilka primrose tribute pay

To him that's dead.

To swell the dirge, ye warbling thrang, Changed be your notes o' praise and sang; For woe and wailing loud and lang

Till echo frae

The hail day through,
yon woods amang
Respond to you.

But Time her sceptred reign shall yield, And vanquished Death shall quit the field, The trumpet tout, when a' concealed

In earth and sea

Shall burst the doors the tyrant sealed,
And be set free.

Then shall our honest Johnny rise,
And wi' the just shall share the prize,
Ayont the stars that gem the skies,
Where joys abound,

And tears nae mair bedim the eyes
O' a' around.

E

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