Classic Poem

PAN and P ASTORA to the Shepherds asleep .

A H ! shepherds, break your pipes, rise and give ear,
The doleful cry of Dornock's death comes here;
Awake and weep; turn careless of your flocks,
And yell till, echoing, you do rend the rocks.
Annan, Milk, Moffat, no more gently glide,
But in hoarse, rapid floods, your streams divide.
The music of our birds is at a close,
And every murmuring brook weeps forth its woes;
Our comfort 's gone, and we must feel the cross,
And still bewail this universal loss.
Even Lachesis herself her eyes did shut,
When cruel Atropos the thread did cut,
With trembling hand, and almost dropt the knife
Wherewith she cut that worthy thread of life,
Which put a period to his earthly race,
And sent his pious soul into its place.
Noble he was by birth, brave like his name,
Douglas of Dornock, of still living fame,
Now silent lies, and in his tomb doth sleep,
Where all the country round their sorrows weep.
The poor, the rich, the young, the old and all,
Were ready still at generous Dornock's call,
To do him service both by day and night,
He was so much their darling and delight,
His presence goodly was, of comely feature,
Adorn'd with all the charms of art and nature.
Ceres and Bacchus were at his command,
And still poor Lazarus found his liberal hand.
The country pleas he understood full well,
And all their pleas did wisely reconcile.
The just Lycurgus of his native shire,
Feared not death, nor did he death desire.
A conscience pure was his continual feast,
Justice and honour both lodg'd in his breast;
Grace and good manners to a high degree
Did always flourish in his family;
And all confess who generous Dornock knew,
The praise I give noways exceeds his due;
O! if the heavenly powers had thought it fit,
To give him Nestor's years to match his wit.

Pallida mors aequo pede pulsat,
Pauperum tabernas, regumque turres.

Pale Death, alike to her subjection brings
The poor man's cottage and the courts of kings.