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(120) Page 84 -
84 ON THE DEATH OF BURNS.
At siccan deeds her bairns were never slaw.
Yes, Scotia, cease to mourn the Minstrel dead ;
O cease to lat the tear o' sorrow fa' :
Anither Burns kythes on the landwart mead ;
For B R now wi' g-lee takes up the aiten reed.
'Tis thou, my friend, canst catch fair Nature's smile-
She bids thee poiu* the simple artless strain ;
Auld Scotia listens wistfully the while.
An' hails her days o' happiness again,
Wlian she nae mair negleckit shall remain.
Thus may'st thou still attune thy native lyre.
An' a' the sweets o' rural life maintain ;
Breathe notes that make the honest saul aspire
To truly manly deeds, an' wake the patriot fire.

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