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Poem by Robert Burns

Elegy on the Late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo

Lies 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,
  And 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 chant your idle loves,
  Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!

Ye heathy wastes, inmixd with reedy fens;
  Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes atord;
Ye rugged cliffs oerhanging dreary glens,
  To you I fly, ye 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 in 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 leftst 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.

                      Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Mark Yonder Pomp
  2. Theres News, Lasses
  3. Scroggam
  4. To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard Presented her
  5. The Toast

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