Scene—a field of battle—time of the day, evening; the wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following
SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies
Now gay with the bright setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties—
Our race of existence is run!
The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was, looking over with a musical friend M’Donald’s collection of Highland airs, I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled “Oran and Aoig, or, The Song of Death,” to the measure of which I have adapted my stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces, which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to transcribe for you. A Dieu je vous commende.
R. B.
CCXXVI.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[That the poet spoke mildly concerning the rebuke which he received from the Excise, on what he calls his political delinquencies, his letter to Erskine of Mar sufficiently proves.]
5th January, 1792.