Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell
so on the death of robert riddell
of glenriddell and friars' carse.
no more, ye warblers of the wood! no more;
nor pour your dest grating on my soul;
thou young-eyed spring! gay in thy verdant stole,
more wele were to me grim winter's wildest roar.
how ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes?
ye blow upon the sod that s my friend!
how i to the tuneful strain attend?
that strain flows round the uomb where riddell lies.
yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe,
and soothe the virtues weeping o'er his bier:
the man of worth—and hath not left his
Sonnet On The Death Of Robert Riddell(1/2)