with critical observations and biographical notices, by Robert Burns

70
flouir his grave to crown !" This is not only the pe-
dantry of tenderness, but the very bathos of bad
writing.^
* The Editor requests the reader's pardon for the introduction
of a few lines on this subject. He promises not to trespass on
his good nature again.
O, Bothwel bank ! again thy flowers
Sprout comely wi' spring's warming showers
The daff'dil on the burn's gay brow,
Wags his sweet head, o'erlaid wi' dew
The gowden cowslips, richly meal'd.
Inlay the burn, by bush and bield ;
And the blythe lark, from morning cloud.
Lights 'mang the dew, and singeth loud.
Sae sweet wert thou that simmer night,
(All 'neath the moon's celestial light !)
When my dear boy, upon my breast,
Laid down his head awhile to rest
Heaven took his angel soul awa', •
And left him in my arms to fa'.
He lay, like a lilie on the ground,
Wi' a' his fair locks loose around.
I howkedt a grave within my bower,
And there I set this heavenly flower:
" And thou wilt spring again," I said,
" And bloom when other flowers will fade