“andst, (the sum of a' my griefs!)

my noble master lies in y;

the flow'r amang our barons bold,

his country's pride, his country's stay:

in weary being now i pine,

for a' the life of life is dead,

and hope has left may aged ken,

on forward wing for ever fled.

“awake thyst sad voice, my harp!

the voice of woe and wild despair!

awake, resound thytesty,

then sleep in silence evermair!

and thou, myst, best, only, friend,

that fillest an untimely tomb,

ept this tribute from the bard

thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom.

“in poverty's low barren vale,

thick mists obscure involv'd me round;

though oft i turn'd the wistful eye,

nae ray of fame was to be found:

thou found'st me, like the morning sun

that melts the fogs in limpid air,

the friendless bard and rustic song

became alike thy fostering care.

“o! why has worth so short a date,

while viins ripen grey with time?

must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great,

fall in bold manhood's hardy prim

why did i live to see that day—

a day to me so full of woe?

o! had i met the mortal shaft

thatid my benefactor low!

“the bridegroom may forget the bride

was made his wedded wife yestreen;

the monarch may forget the crown

that on his head an hour has been;

the mother may forget the child

that smiles sae sweetly on her knee;

but i'll remember thee, glencairn,

and a' that thou hast done for me!”