HE ’s gane, he ’s gane! he ’s frae us torn,
The ae best fellow e’er was born!
Thee, Matthew, Nature’s sel’ shall mourn
                By wood and wild,
Where, haply, pity strays forlorn,
                Frae man exiled.

  Ye hills, near neebors o’ the starns,
That proudly cock your cresting cairns!
Ye cliffs, the haunts of...