THE EPІТАРН. STOP, passenger! my story's brief, I tell nae common tale o' grief, 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 on men, their works and ways, VOL. III. T If If thou at friendship's sacred ca’ If thou art staunch without a stain, If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, If ony whiggish whingin sot, To blame poor Matthew dare, man; LAMENT LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now Nature hangs her mantle On every blooming tree, green And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the grassy lea: Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, But nought can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Now blooms the lily by the bank, The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang; But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, And And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, But as for thee, thou false woman, Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword Was never known to thee; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe Frae woman's pitying e'e. My son! my son! may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend. O! soon, to me, may summer-suns Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn! And |