Burns

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,

And pierc’d my darling’s heart;

And with him all the joys are fled

Life can to me impart

By cruel hands the sapling drops,

In dust dishonour’d laid;

So fell the pride of all my hopes,

My age’s future shade.

The mother-linnet in the brake

Bewails her ravish’d young;

So I, for my lost darling’s sake,

Lament the live-day long.

Death, oft I’ve feared thy fatal blow.

Now, fond, I bare my breast;

O, do thou kindly lay me low

With him I love, at rest!

Robert Burns (1759 – 1796)

An honest woman here lies at rest

As e’er God with his image blest;

The friend of man, the friend of truth,

The friend of age, and guide of youth:

Few hearts like this, with virtue warm’d

Few heads with knowledge so inform’d:

If there’s another world, she lives in bliss;

If there is none, she made the best of this.

Robert Burns  (1759 – 1796)