Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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Elegy ON THE LATE J. F. SURGEON. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
328
Elegy ON THE LATE J. F. SURGEON.
Wow! wha frae death will guard us now?
Our warden's fa'n, sae stainch and true!
Matches like him death met but few—
I'd maist said nane;
To health we a' may bid adieu,
Since Jamie's gane.
Our warden's fa'n, sae stainch and true!
Matches like him death met but few—
I'd maist said nane;
To health we a' may bid adieu,
Since Jamie's gane.
Kilbride his death may mourn for ever;
Kilbride his peer may look for never;
He's wafted o'er that fatal river,
Recrossed by nane;
And wha frae death will us deliver,
Since Jamie's gane?
Kilbride his peer may look for never;
He's wafted o'er that fatal river,
Recrossed by nane;
And wha frae death will us deliver,
Since Jamie's gane?
His worth is a' the clachan's crack;
We wish, but canna bring him back;
We've roopit Robin's shop o' black,
Oursel's to cleed;
Nae consolation can we tak',
Since Jamie's dead.
We wish, but canna bring him back;
We've roopit Robin's shop o' black,
Oursel's to cleed;
Nae consolation can we tak',
Since Jamie's dead.
He was weel liked ilka where
For healin' heads when they were sair;
The middle ward o' Lanarkshire
May loudly maen;
His peregal she'll meet nae mair!
Och! Jamie's gane!
For healin' heads when they were sair;
The middle ward o' Lanarkshire
May loudly maen;
His peregal she'll meet nae mair!
Och! Jamie's gane!
Lament him, O ye mithers a',
Wha aften for the howdie ca';
Your tears he banish'd far awa
In time o' pain;
His like auld Scotlan' never saw;
But now he's gane.
Wha aften for the howdie ca';
Your tears he banish'd far awa
In time o' pain;
His like auld Scotlan' never saw;
But now he's gane.
Mair skill in's single pow there lay
Than a' the Glasgow faculty,
Wha ance wad pierced for dropsy
A wife wi' wean,
Whase time was tauld, even to a day,
By Jamie gane.
Than a' the Glasgow faculty,
Wha ance wad pierced for dropsy
A wife wi' wean,
Whase time was tauld, even to a day,
By Jamie gane.
329
Wi' whittles Jamie ne'er was rash,
Our legs and arms to cut and slash;
Nor yet wi' vomits, and sic trash,
To gar us graen;
Now we maun thole ilk gamrell hash,
Since Jamie's gane.
Our legs and arms to cut and slash;
Nor yet wi' vomits, and sic trash,
To gar us graen;
Now we maun thole ilk gamrell hash,
Since Jamie's gane.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |