The mavis sweet began to sing,
And Corbye woods were turning green;
When auld Grey Graeme grew sick at heart,
Now fourscore Winters he had seen;
And rest gat nane,
A' strength was gane;
Pale was his cheek, and sunk his een.

Quo' he, ''Life's sand is weel nigh run,
And last of a' the flock am I;
But here's a leel, an honest heart,
The stings o' conscience can defy:
Life's but a day;
We slip away;
A' nature tells the reason why.

''In vain we seegh and greet at death,
When time has shorn an achin' pow;
'Tis painfu' to be ling'rin' here,
When to the earth age maks us bow:
I've had my share
O' warldly care,
And death comes wi' nae terrors now.

''When first I sa' yon castle wa',
A blithesome sight it was to me;
When last I sa' yon castle wa'
The saut tear blinded aft my e'e:
God's will be duin!
Hope points abuin;
And ay her smiles can comfort gie.

''Hoarse--murm'ring Eden, sweet thy sounds
Are borne on ilka passing gale;
Aft I hae stray'd thy thick--wov'n woods,
When Luna lighted hill and dale;
O' days by--gane,
In lightly strain,
Ay fain to pour the true--tauld tale.

''Dear windin' stream! thy soughin' flood
Like friendship's voice, to me was sweet;--
Nae mair thy murmurs maun I hear!
Nae mair my friens on earth I'll meet!
A fev'rish dream,
A bubbling stream,
Life proves at best a daily cheat!

Jeannet, my wife! blest saint abuin!
The twentieth spring now decks the tree,
Sin' thou tuik leave o' this warl's care,
And laith was I to part wi' thee:
I pin'd me lang,
But that was wrang;
We shou'dna weep at fate's decree!

''Wi' thee, dear partner o' youth's joys,
In realms o' bliss I lang to meet;
And my five sons, slain by the Dane,
O may they suin this spirit greet!
The noon's braid light
Fades frae my sight,
And weak life's pulse begins to beat.

''Come hither, Coll!--Auld faithfu' dog!
To lea' thee, O it maks me grieve!
Thou monie a lesson gie'st proud man,
For thou wilt serve, but ne'er deceive!
When I am gane,
There still is ane,
Will ilka day thy wants relieve.

''Yes, ane there is will send thee food,
That angel fair wha plac'd me here;
And ane there is will her reward,
The virtuous mind hath nought to fear:
Puir and distrest,
She made me blest--
Flow on! flow on, thou gratefu' tear.

''Fareweel, dumb frien! grown grey wi' years,
Painfu' the thought that we maun part;
May'st thou be buried by my side,
This wish clings to my achin' heart:
Thy paw gie me;
Tears quat my ee;
Thy moan e'en maks anither start!

''Hand o'er my harp!guid Margery!
And let me ance mair touch the string;
To it, I sang o' former days,
But nane of auld Grey Graeme will sing!
Sweet harp! nae mair
Thou'lt sooth ilk care!
For me, there is nae second spring!

''O when I'm in my narrow bed,
This harp hang high in Corbye Ha'!
There monie a Winter we beguil'd,
Nae snell blast heedin, sleet or snaw;
And there, blest hour!
When cauld, and puir,
Fair Ellinor my een first saw!

''Yes, Sol had westward driv'n his team,
Some ither country to delight;
And Boreas, wi' a thousand blasts,
Bade welcome to the wintry night:
The roarin' flood,
The moanin wood,
Might weel a timid mind affright!

''But when the Empress o' the sky
Rose stately o'er ilk murky cloud,
An angel smile bade plenty chear
The carle, by cauld and hunger bow'd:
I thank kind heav'n!
To me 'tis giv'n,
To pay her yet wi' gratitude!

''Blest be the aged poor man's friend,
Who owns a heart to feeling true!
May happiness grow wi' her years,
Nor sorrow ever cloud her brow!
O were she near!
O could she hear
The Dying Harper's last adieu!

''To soothe distress, wherever seen,
What joy so pure beneath the sky?
Heav'n has, for such, a gift in store,
That this warl's wealth can never buy.
Peace to their days,
With each one's praise,
Who wipe the tear frae misery's eye!

''Fareweel, ye sheep upo' the hill!
Nae mair ye'll hear the Harper's voice;
Nae mair ye'll greet him wi' a bleet;
Nae mair he'll pat ye, and rejoice!
Wi' ye to stray,
At closin' day,
Was ay the leel auld Harper's choice!

''Fareweel, ye buddin' wavin' woods!
Ne'er, ne'er again ye'll shelter me;
I watch'd ye grow, I've seen ye fa',
And sa' a frien in ilka tree:
Cropp'd in your prime,
Or bow'd by time,
Just sae, weak man's cut down, like ye!

''Fareweel, my bonnie siller birks,
Where monie an e'enin' hour I play'd!
It is a leel auld Harper's wish,
To rest his banes aneath your shade!--
Weak grows my breath--
Come, welcome death!
To quat this warl, I'm not afraid!

''The wicked ne'er fan me a frien!
The virtuous ne'er fan me a fae!
A shamefu' deed ne'er flush'd my cheek,
Ne'er caus'd within my bosom wae!--
Receive me, God!
Be my abode
The mansion of eternal day!''

Without a moan, without a seegh,
The leel auld Harper clos'd his een;
And near his weel--lo'ed siller birks,
There is a grave by monie seen:
And on the hill,
Close by the rill,
The spot where Grey Graeme's but has been.

Fair Ellinor, the peerless dame,
Had carv'd his virtues on a stane,
At which the learn'd aft pore and seegh,
And fancy words, where words are nane.
Time a' destroys!
Let us be wise!
Anither day, perchance we're gane!