An unseen shade by all, has come;
The Scottish music of her speech
So sweet, is now for ever dumb.
So pass the leal ones of this earth,
To leave with us a holier claim;
To touch us with their spirit-birth,
And whisper they are still the same.
These simple flowers of withered hue,
Last year, when summer winds did wave,
Were plucked by her because they grew