Classic Poem

Lay him on the grassy pillow,
All his toil and troubles o'er;
Hang his harp upon the willow,
For he'll wake its soul no more.
Let the hawthorn and the rowan
Twine their branches o'er his head,
And the bonnie little gowan
Come to deck his lowly bed.

Let no tongue profane upbraid him;
Here is nothing now but clay:
To the spirit pure that made him,
Sorrowing, he stole away.
Let the shade of gentle Jessie,
From the woods of old Dumblane—
Innocence he clothed in beauty—
Plead not for the bard in vain.

Let the braes of grey Gleniffer,
And the winding Killoch Burn,
Lofty Lomond and Balquither,
For their sweetest minstrel mourn;
And the Stanely turrets hoary,
And the wood of Craigielee,
Waft his name and mournful story
Over ev'ry land and sea.

Let the lily of the valley
Weep her dews above his head,
While the Scottish muse sings waly
O'er her lover's lowly bed.
Lay him on the grassy pillow,
All his toil and troubles o'er;
Hang his harp upon the willow,
For he'll wake its soul no more.