Robert Burns

Richard Hatt, "Monody to the Memory of Robert Burns" New British Lady's Magazine 1 (October 1818) 179.

O Burns! my favourite bard, I've shed
At thy sad fate the muse's tear;
And mourn'd to think that thou wert dead,
'Ere half thy worth did scarce appear!
The pride of once the blooming year,
And darling of the tuneful nine,
Now who shall charm the banks of Ayr,
Or bonny Doon in lays like thine?

Is there a muse not touch'd with woe,
When pond'ring o'er the sacred urns,
Of those who felt sweet Nature's glow?
Then weep the loss of hallow'd Burns!
Mark Caledonia how she moans,
Her poet low untimely laid;
Whose vocal vales echo returns,
Long guard his much-lov'd honor'd shade!

Ye Scottish bards on braes o' Doon,
And ye who chaunt by "hermit Ayr,"
Sing well his praise — lament his doom
Breath'd ardent from the soul sincere!
Ye who perhaps have born his bier
With dirges solemn, sad and slow,
To parent earth, may sighing here
The tributary tear bestow!—

Accept, O Burns! this requiem strain,
Whilst o'er thy living verse I pour,
The sympathetic tear in pain,
Thy last blest relic to adore!—
Which shall endure till time's no more;
Whilst the world on its apis turns;
Succeeding ages shall implore
Fresh laurels for the tomb of — Burns!