The sparkling jewel in lowly cot?

Eternity will not efface

The record dear of time that's past;

Thy memory sweet we still embrace,

And will as long as life shall last!

Ayr, congealèd to its pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, shorn of green;

The leafless birch and hawthorn hoar

Were planted round the wintry scene;

No flowers sprang wanton to be pressed—

No birds sang love on every spray—

But brightest yet o'er all the rest

Will ever shine thy natal day!

[Pg 26]

Still o'er thy songs our rapture wakes,

And memory broods with miser care!

Time but their music sweeter makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear.

O Burns! Thou dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

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