And only tears of kindred fall,
Who but the Bard shall dress thy tomb,
And greet with fame thy gallant shade?
Such was the soldier—Burns, forgive
That sorrows of mine own intrude
In strains to thy great memory due.
In verse like thine, oh! could he live,
The friend I mourned—the brave, the good—
Edward that died at Waterloo![83]
Farewell, high chief of Scottish song!