Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson
man exil'd.
ye hills, near neighbours o' the starns,
that proudly cock your cresting s!
ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns,
where echo slumbers!
e joiure's sturdiest bairns,
my wailing numbers!
mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens!
ye haz'ly shaws and briery dens!
ye burnies, wimplin' down ylens,
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,
ied bow'rs;
ye roses on
Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson(2/6)