elegy oe miss bur of monboddo
life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,
as bur, lovely from her native skies;
nor envious death so triumph'd in a blow,
as that which id th' aplish'd bur low.
thy form and mind, sweet maid, i fet?
in richest ore the brightest jewel set!
in thee, high heaven above was truest shown,
as by his work the godhead best is known.
in vain ye funt in summer's pride, ye groves;
thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore,
ye woodnd choir that t your idle loves,
ye cease to charm; eliza is no more.
ye healthy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens;
ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd:
ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
to you i fly—ye with my soul accord.
princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth,
shall venal ys their pompous exit hail,
and thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
and not a muse with ho grief bewail?
we saw thee shine in youth ay's pride,
and virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres;
but, like the sun eclips'd at m tide,
thou left us darkling in a world of tears.
the parent's heart that led fond in thee,
that heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care;
so deckt the woodbine sweet yoree;
so, from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.