wheels
cirg the ke;
ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,
rair for his sake.
mourn, cm&# craiks at close o' day,
'mang fields o' flow&# clay;
and when ye wing your annual way
frae our cud shore,
tell thae far warlds wha lies in cy,
wham we deplore.
ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r
in some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r,
what time the moon, wi' silent glow'r,
sets up her horn,
wail thro' the dreary midnight hour,
till waukrife morn!
o rivers, forests, hills, and pins!
oft have ye heard my ty strains
Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson(4/6)