SCOTIA’S DIRGE: BEING VERSES ON THE DEATH OF JOHN WILSON, Esq., THE SCOTTISH VOCALIST, Who died at Quebec on the 9th July 1849.

Auld Scotia now may sigh aloud, Her tears in torrents fa’, Her sweetest harp now hangs unstrung, Since Wilson’s ta’en awa’. He sang o’ a’ her warlike deeds, An’ sons that gallant were— Her hoary towers, an’ snaw-clad hills, An’ maidens sweet and fair.

His was a harp o’ thrillin’ sound, Could pleasure aye impart; Its melody o’ bygane days Gaed hame to ilka heart. Its strains could bring remembrance back To youthfu’ days at school; Or mak’ us sigh for Scotia’s wrangs, An’ Flodden’s day o’ dool.

He sang o’ beauty’s winsome wiles, In mony a leesome theme, An’ gather’d by his artless lays A never-dying name. While heather blooms on Scotia’s hills, An’ burnies join the sea, His aft-applauded “Nichts wi’ Burns” Will ne’er forgotten be.

Ye gentle maids! a tribute pay Frae ’mang your Western bowers, An’ strew the minstrel’s lowly grave Wi’ summer’s balmy flowers! Then rest thee, minstrel! Tho’ thy harp Can noo nae mair be found, The lovers o’ auld Scotia’s sangs Can ne’er forget its sound!