stanzas.
101
Stanzas
ON THE DEMISE OF ROBERT BURNS, ESQ., OF DUMFRIES, ELDEST SON OF SCOTLAND'S BARD.
A solemn waving of dark plumes is seen
Midst sable groups, who onward sad and slow
Direct their footsteps to that sacred green,
Where calmly, side by side, sleep friend and foe.
The unfeigned impress of the heart that mourns
Fills every brow assembled there with gloom—
For 'tis the first-born of immortal Burns
They bear in sorrow to the lonely tomb.
Midst sable groups, who onward sad and slow
Direct their footsteps to that sacred green,
Where calmly, side by side, sleep friend and foe.
The unfeigned impress of the heart that mourns
Fills every brow assembled there with gloom—
For 'tis the first-born of immortal Burns
They bear in sorrow to the lonely tomb.
"No more," is murmured from each lip, "no more
His pleasing converse shall delight impart;
Lost, lost to us the magic of his lore,
And all the genuine warmth of his deep heart.
Ah! lost to us the friend reserved so long,
Endeared to every heart by many a tie,
The gifted son of Scotland's bard of song.
Alas! that earth's most loved and prized should die."
His pleasing converse shall delight impart;
Lost, lost to us the magic of his lore,
And all the genuine warmth of his deep heart.
Ah! lost to us the friend reserved so long,
Endeared to every heart by many a tie,
The gifted son of Scotland's bard of song.
Alas! that earth's most loved and prized should die."
"Should die!" a breeze-like voice would seem to say;
"And what is death but rest—an ended race,
Through which life's rose leaves flutter all away,
Till but the thorns remain to mark their place?
"And what is death but rest—an ended race,
Through which life's rose leaves flutter all away,
Till but the thorns remain to mark their place?
