Elegy on the death of Captain Matthew Henderson

Elegy on the death of the late Captn. Matthew Henderson, Edin

O Death, thou tyrant fell & bloody!
The meikle devil wi' a woodie
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie,
O'er hurcheon hides;
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie
Wi' thy auld sides!

He's gane, He's gane! He's frae us torn,
The ae best fellow e'er was born!
Thee, Matthew, woods & wilds shall mourn,
With a' their birth;
For whunstane Man to grieve wold scorn,
For poor, plain Worth.----

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns,
That proudly cock your cresting cairns;
Ye cliffs, the haunts o' sailing yearns,
Where echo slumbers;
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns;
My wailing numbers.----

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens;
Ye hazelly shaws, & briery dens;
Ye

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens
Wi' toddlin din,
Or foaming, strang, wi' rumbling stens
Frae lin to lin.----

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea;
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see;
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie
In scented bowers;
Ye roses, on your thorny tree
The first of flowers.----

At dawn, when every grassy blade
Droops with a diamond at his head;
At even, when beans their fragrance shed
I' th' rustling gale;
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade
Come join my wail.----

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood;
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud;
Ye curlews skirlin thro' a clud;
Ye whistling pliver:
And mourn, ye birring paitrick-brood,
He's gane for ever----

Mourn, sooty coots, & speckled teals;
Ye fisher-herons, watching eels;
Ye deuk & drake, wi' airy wheels
Circling the lake:
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels,
Rowt for his sake.----

Mourn, clamouring crakes, at close of day,
'Mang fields o' flowering claver gay;
And when ye wing your annual way
Frae our cauld shore,
Tell thae far worlds, wha lies in clay
Whom we deplore.----

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower
In some auld tree, or tottering tower,
What time the moon wi' silent glowr
Sets up her horn,
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour
Till waukrife morn.----

O, rivers, forests, hills, & plains!
Oft have ye heard my rustic strains:
But now, what else for me remains
But tales of woe;
And frae my een the drapping rains
Must ever flow!

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year;
Ilk cowslip-cup shall kep a tear:
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear
Sets up its head,
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear
For him that's dead.----

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
In grief thy sallow mantle tear:
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air
The roaring blast,
Wide o'er the naked world declare
The worth we've lost.----

Mourn him thou Sun, great source of light;
Mourn, Empress of the silent night:
And you, ye glittering Starnies bright,
My Matthew mourn;
For thro' your orbs he' taen his flight,
Ne'er to return.----

O Henderson! The Man! The Brother!
And art thou gone, & gone for ever!
And hast thou crost that unknown river,
Life's dreary bound!
Like thee where shall I find another
The world around!!!
Go

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great,
In a' the tinsel trash of state!
But by thy honest turf I'll wait,
Thou Man of Worth,
And weep the ae best fellow's fate
E'er lay in earth.

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The Epitaph

Stop, Passenger! my story's brief,
And truth I shall relate, man;
I tell nae common tale o' grief--
For Matthew was a great Man.

If thou uncommon merit hast,
Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man;
A look of pity hither cast--
For Matthew was a poor man.

If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by this grave, man;
There moulders here a gallant heart,
For Matthew was a brave man.

If thou, at Friendship's sacred ca'
Wad life itself resign, man;
The 

Thy sympathetic drap maun fa',
For Matthew was a kind man.----

If thou art staunch, without a stain
Like the unchanging blue, man;
This was a kinsman o' thy ain,
For Matthew was a true man.

If thou hast wit, & fun, & fire,
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man;
This was thy billie, dam, & sire,
For Matthew was a queer man.

But now his radiant course is run,
For Matthew was a bright man;
His soul was like the glorious sun,
A matchless heavently light, man----
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