Fair is the morn in flowery May, And sweet is night in Autumn mild, When roving thro’ the garden gay, Or wandering in the lonely wild: But Woman, Nature’s darling child! There all her charms she does compile; Ev’n there her other works are foil’d By the bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. O had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain, Tho’ shelter’d in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotland’s plain! Thro’ weary winter’s wind and rain, With joy, with rapture, I would toil; And nightly to my bosom strain The bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. Then pride might climb the slippery steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine: Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks or till the soil, And every day have joys divine, With the bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. ELEGY ON CAPT. MATTHEW HENDERSON A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD He’s gane, he’s gane! he’s frae us torn, The ae best fellow e’er was born! Thee, Matthew, Nature’s sel’ shall mourn By wood and wild, Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, Frae man exil’d. Ye hills, near neibors o’ the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns! Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing earns, Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature’s sturdiest bairns, My wailing numbers! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! Ye haz’lly shaws and briery dens! Ye burnies, wimplin’ down your glens, Wi’ toddlin din, Or foaming strang wi’ hasty stens Frae lin to lin. Mourn, little harebells o’er the lea; Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, In scented bow’rs; Ye roses on your thorny tree, The first o’ flow’rs. At dawn when ev’ry grassy blade Droops with a diamond at his head, At ev’n when beans their fragrance shed I’ th’ rustling gale, Ye maukins, whiddin’ thro’ the glade, Come join my wail. Mourn, ye wee songsters o’ the wood; Ye grouse that crap the heather bud; Ye curlews calling thro’ a clud; Ye whistling plover; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood— He’s gane for ever! Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; Ye fisher herons, watching eels; Ye duck and drake, wi’ airy wheels Circling the lake; Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Rair for his sake.