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And ere he set, his latest gleam
Will linger o'er my breast.

Perchance at close of eve,

Some friend may linger here,
And shed upon my peaceful grave

One bright unbidden tear.

My soul shall soon be free,

And, loosed from mortal chains,
Shall launch on that unbounded sea

Where peace for ever reigns.

There is a glorious rest,'

For weeping mortals given;
And when they sink on earth's cold breast,

They find that rest in heaven.



On the Death of John Earl of Hopetoun, &c. &c. at Paris, 27th August 1823.

From Jonah's grief, and anger for his gourd,
From David's Perezuzza, save us Lord!

For thou dost try us, but we humbled bow

Before thy throne; nor say, what doest thou?

All-ruling Sovereign! ever wise and good

Are all thy ways, though darkly understood;

And oft at seeming variance with the grace

That favours man, and the rich promises

On which we hope.—How dark was that decree,

Which summoned Hopetoun hence; though 'twas to thee!

Ah, in his death, how many sanguine schemes,

That hope had cherished die! How many streams

Of bliss are dried! How many tears and sighs

Reveal of many hearts the agonies!

The highest ranks, the Chiefest of the chief,
Share largely in our sympathy and grief.

Regard Him in his cordial adieu *,
Regard Him in his retrospective view,
When of the Scottish shores, on Hopetoun's strand,
He took his leave, and pressed its Chieftain's hand.—
Whom did the King delight to honour more?
Whose death more bitterly can he deplore?
Of Scotia's dignities the brightest gem
He saw, admired, and recognised in them
The matchless pair, the matchless progeny:
He never saw, nor hopes their like to see.

Referring to his Majesty's leaving Scotland.

Dear to his prince, by all around him blessed, Hopetoun's high claims to honour all confessed. Among his peers unrivalled, yet beloved, With mingled grace and dignity he moved. His fall they mourn.—But whither can we go, But to perceive the solemn march of woe; To see the streaming eyes of grief, and hear Her mournful tones repeated far and near?

Britannia's deathless annals shall proclaim, To distant times, the Chief's illustrious name; While in Corunna's memorating line At once the orator and hero shine. Nor do her armies only mourn his zeal; What patriot more enjoyed his country's weal? Hostile to her hostilities, and blessed, Her honours and prosperity increased.

Alas! as we survey his favoured Fife, His native Lothian, his domestic life, The tides of grief and mourning more prevail: Each dale and hamlet tells its cause to wail, Chiefly lorn Abercorn and Monimail *. There gratitude her benefactor lauds, There generous deeds philanthropy applauds, There friendship's lips with glowing rapture dwell On scenes of bliss; though the recitals swell The breast with pleasing pain ineffable. * Lord Hopetoun's native parish.

But lo! to the mind's eye a form appears,
Serene and lovely, smiling, though in tears,
To speak his eulogy :—' How dear to me,
His warm regard, his firm consistency;
While, by his influence, vice, afraid, abashed,
Saw her base power and machinations quashed;
For virtue's friends and rights 'twas his to guard;
His life a model, and his smile reward.
For me and for my courts may many feel,
His firm attachment, unassuming zeal;
His high enjoyment of my sacred rites;
And taste with him devotion's pure delights!'

Thus speaks Religion :—even she must mourn
So fair a pillar from her temple torn;
Even she that softens grief, and lulls to rest
The warring passions in the troubled breast.

O! to that home, which late his presence blessed,
Now grief's abode, may she, a welcome guest,
With all her tenderest influences repair,
To bind each bursting heart, and chase despair'
O'er his lom consort, shed her choicest balm,
And youthful bosoms, new to anguish, calm!
Till, where dark sorrow reigned, shall peace be found,
And faith and hope bid heavenly joy abound!



Not easily, my friend, can I recount
Why and how much endeared to me the mount,
Sir David Lindsay's hill; the very name
Is an attraction, and secures its fame.
History records his pauky cutting rhymes,
His quaint conceits, and pictures of the times.
'Twas here he lived, and where exists a Scot
Regards it not a venerated spot?

With the admirers fond of the sublime
And beautiful, the favourite hill I climb;
With willing feet ascending with delight,
New, varying, opening scenes regale the sight.

The vale is traced, the enraptured eye now roams
O'er fertile fields, o'er venerable domes,
Mansions of kings and many a baron bold,
And soldiers too, and saints renowned of old,
And modern elegance, on every side,
Where taste and hospitality abide.


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