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The clock strikes twelve !--prophetic'ly revealing
The awful twelve of Nature hastens on:
And her tremendous, deep expiring groan;
ELEGY ON THE MEMORY OF JOHN BROWN,
Of Coldstream, Newtown.
“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.”- Rev. xiv. 13.
Q ULD Johnny's win awa at last,
Frae simmer's heat and winter's blast:
Wi' him for ever,
By Tweed's fair river.
O mourn, Newtown, baith lang and sair !
That Death has made,
He did invade ?
For mother wit and worth, true fame
And richly given;
Direct frae heaven.
His gashin' jokes nae mair we'll hear-
Sa hamely spun;
Aneth the sun.
Nae mair he'll wander by Tweedside,
Wi' his bit creel,
Packed snod and weel.
Mourn, Lennel Haugh, your frien's awa;
O loudly wail !
Lament my tale.
Ye trees that skirt yon rocky brae,
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
The hail day through, Till echo frae yon woods amang
Respond to you.
But Time her sceptred reign shall yield,
In earth and sea
And be set free.
Then shall our honest Johnny rise,
Where joys abound,
LAMENT FOR THE PREMATURE AND
SUDDEN DEATH OF R. T.,
Supposed to be written while standing over his Grave in Lennel
ERE now in lonely sorrow let me mourn,
A friend and brother from my bosom torn. O hallowed bliss, to me for ever past, Ecstatic joy, too exquisite to last. What e'er can soothe my anguish, and impart Life's former sunshine to the blighted heart ? How short and fleeting all that life supplies ! “He builds too low who builds beneath the skies.” Mute now the tongue which but so lately charmed And paralyzed the heart affection warmed. Those eyes which flashed with intellectual light, How sightless now, and closed in endless night! A father's tears may cease for him to flow, Time neutralize a weeping brother's woe; A sobbing sister may forget her sigh; Joy yet illume the promised fair one's eye; But lonely Friendship ever must deplore A loss in him, the world can ne'er restore. No feigned affliction pours her sorrows here; A bosom mourns o'er all it once held dear, Years may roll on, but to increase my woe, As streams enlarge and deepen as they flow.
However o'er life's stormy billows tossed,
TO THE MEMORY OF AN OLD FRIEND.
Written on the discovery of her Burial-Place in
Lennel Churchyard, Coldstream.
G ND oh is such her sacred spot of rest!
Nor where her sainted ashes now repose. Obscure in life, as in the grave obscure,
Alone the vale of poverty she trod
Her only stay and refuge was her God, Who gave her at the cross an earnest sure: Her all through it for ever was secure
The wish supreme and purpose of her soul.
Friend of my earlier and my happier years,
O can I e'er forget her Christian worth ?
Regarding me, what words can shadow forth ?