;
but now, what else for me remains
but tales of woe;
and frae my een the drapping rains
maun ever flow.
mourn, spring, thou darling of the year!
ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear:
thou, simmer, while each y spear
shoots up its head,
thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear,
for him that's dead!
thou, autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
in grief thy sallow maear!
thou, winter, hurling thro' the air
the r bst,
wide o'er the naked world decre
the worth we've lost!
mourn him, thou sun, great source of light!
mour
Elegy On Captain Matthew Henderson(5/6)