WRITTEN AT THE GRAVE OF THE LATE SIR DUNCAN CAMERON OF FASSIFERN

O H ! soundly sleep, thou noble Chief,
In Callart's fragrant greenwood shade,
Full many a heart was fraught with grief,
When thou in thy low bed was laid.

Oh! soundly sleep, and gladly wake,
Thou scion of a lordly race,
Whose frown the battlefield would shake,
Whose smile a royal court would grace.

Laid low by no untimely stroke,
But ripe in honours as in years,
Though stately bough of the great oak,
That ages to our land endears.

Friend of the poor in time of need,
Thou laid'st the topstone on the cairn
Of many a good and gallant deed
Done by the house of Fassifern.

The house that gave brave heroes birth —
Whose banners waved in many a clime —
The flowers of chivalry and worth —
Who made whate'er they touched sublime.

Sprung from Lochiel — their heroes shed
A halo round that martial name;
And gathered flowers, where'er they led,
For proud Britannia's wreath of fame.

The good Sir Ewen's counsel sage
Did oft the poor from wrong defend;
The guide of youth, the crutch of age,
Oppression's foe, and virtue's friend.

And thou, of his brave sons the last,
A harvest rich of love didst reap,
Then smiling o'er thy labours past,
So calmly went in peace to sleep.

The woodland choir with songs will haunt
Thy lone home by the silvery sea,
Whose rippling waves so quaintly chant
Their low sweet requiem to thee.

The flowers that bloom around thy grave —
The fragrant birch at morn and even,
Sweet incense from their censers wave
Memorials of thee to heaven.

And tho' the wild bog-myrtle now
Is 'mong thine ancient oak-wreath twined.
May she who wears it on her brow
Have honour, love, and joy combined.

Sole daughter of thine house so true,
From many a loyal chieftain sprung,
Who ruled in power when lords were few,
And by a thousand bards were sung!