Elegy on the late Miss Burnet of Monboddo
Life neer exulted in so rich a prize,
As Burnet, lovely from her native skies;
Nor envious death so triumphd in a blow,
As that which laid th accomplishd Burnet low.
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
As by His noblest work the Godhead best is known.
In vain ye flaunt in summers pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
Ye woodland choir that chaunt your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm; Eliza is no more.
Ye healthy wastes, immixd with reedy fens;
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stord:
Ye rugged cliffs, oerhanging dreary glens,
To you I flyye with my soul accord.
Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail,
And thou, sweet Excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a Muse with honest grief bewail?
We saw thee shine in youth and beautys pride,
And Virtues light, that beams beyond the spheres;
But, like the sun eclipsd at morning tide,
Thou left us darkling in a world of tears.
The parents heart that nestled fond in thee,
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care;
So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree;
So, from it ravishd, leaves it bleak and bare.
Poems by Robert Burns
