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(178) Page 170 - Let grief for ever cloud the day
170
DIRGE.
Written on reading an Account of Robert Burns' Funeral.
Let grief for ever cloud the day,
That saw our Bard borne to the clay;
Let joy be banish'd every eye,
And Nature, weeping, seem to cry—
" He's gone, he's gone ! he's frae us torn !
" The ae best fellow e'er was born."
Let shepherds, from the mountain's steep,
Look down on widow'd Kith, and weep,
Let rustic swains their labours leave,
And sighing, murmur o'er his grave—
" He's gone, he's gone ! &c.
Let bonny Doon, and winding Ayr,
Their bushy banks in anguish tear,
While many a tributary stream,
Pours down its griefs to swell the theme—
" He's gone, he's gone ! &c.

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