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Broadside entitled 'Elegy'




Sandy M'Kay,



Has auld King Geordie slipp'd awa',
Or Wellington, or Peel, or wha,
Sae mony tears are seen tae fa',

Frae ilk ane's head ?
A better man than ony twa?
                                  Scotch Sandy's dead.

      Lament in prose, lament in rhyme,

    Wi' saut tears trickling down like brime,

    Our Sandy's fate, o'men the prime,

                                  Is past remead,

    M'Kay, the bravest o' our clime,

                                  Lies cauld and dead.


      Scarce could the loss o' King or Peer,

    Draw frae auld Scotland sic a tear,

    Or mak' her, dull and dowie, wear,
                                  The mourning weed ;

    But she has lost a friend maist dear,
                                  Her Sandy's dead !

      Through a' braid Scotland, far and wide,

    He was the country's honest pride,

    Ten thousand hearts stood by his side,
                                  To bid him speed,

    But waesucks for the Forth and Clyde,
                                  Their Sandy's dead.

      A lad o' sterling worth was he,

    Wha kenn'd nae what it was to flee,

      He car'd nae wha the man would be,

                                  Nor did him dread,


      For honour he would fight or dee !

                                  And noo he's dead !


      Still tae his country's honour true,

      And wearing still a bonnet blue,

      He strove for Scotia through and through,

                                  To fight, to bleed !

But sad's the news we've gotten noo,
                                  Poor Sandy's dead.

    O! Scotia's valiant sons, the best,

    The laurels on his brow did rest,

    And nane frae north, south, east or west

                                  Could him impede,

      Sae he resolv'd to try the test,

                                  South o' the Tweed.

    But time and tide nae man can stop,
      Though he was brave, and all had hope,
    Before deep cunning he did drop,
                                  And dropt indeed;

      For wi' grim death he couldna cope,

And Sandy's dead !

He fell, but bravely fighting fell,
Sandy was to the last himsel',
And future ages yet shall tell,

While hearts do bleed,
Of Sandy they lik'd sae well,

Tho' noo he's dead !

          Edinburgh ...Printed for the Stationers.

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Probable date of publication: 1830   shelfmark: F.3.a.13(13a)
Broadside entitled 'Elegy'
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