Poems by Robert Nicoll :: :: University of Virginia Library

By a kirkyard-yett I stood, while many enter'd in,
Men bow'd wi' toil an' age—wi' haffets auld an' thin;
An' ithers in their prime, wi' a bearin' proud an' hie;
An' maidens, pure an' bonnie as the daisies o' the lea;
An' matrons wrinkled auld, wi' lyart heads an' gray;
An' bairns, like things o'er fair for Death to wede away.

I stood beside the yett, while onward still they went,—
The laird frae out his ha', an' the shepherd frae the bent:

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It seem'd a type o' men, an' o' the grave's domain;
But these were livin' a', an' could straight come forth again.
An' of the bedral auld, wi' meikle courtesie,
I speer'd what it might mean? an' he bade me look an' see.

On the trodden path that led to the house of worshipping,
Or before its open doors, there stood nae livin' thing;
But awa' amang the tombs, ilk comer quickly pass'd,
An' upon ae lowly grave ilk seekin' e'e was cast.
There were sabbin' bosoms there, and proud yet soften'd eyes,
An' a whisper breathed around, “There the loved and honour'd lies.”

There was ne'er a murmur there—the deep-drawn breath was hush'd,—
And o'er the maiden's cheek the tears o' feelin' gush'd;
An' the bonnie infant face was lifted as in prayer;
An' manhood's cheek was flush'd wi' the thoughts that movin' were:
I stood beside the grave, and I gazed upon the stone,
And the name of “Robert Burns” was engraven thereupon.