POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE AN UNCO MOURNFU' TALE As Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, Wi' glowrin een, and lifted han's "O thou, whase lamentable face “Tell him, if e'er again he keep As muckle gear as buy a sheep A Mailie's mis-hap Mailie's dying charge O, bid him never tie them mair, may "Tell him, he was a Master kin', “O, bid him save their harmless lives, "An' may they never learn the gates, An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 66 My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, An' if he live to be a beast, To pit some havins in his breast! and sad decease An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, "An' neist, my yowie, silly thing, "And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith: An' when you think upo' your mither, "Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail, To tell my master a' my tale; This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. LAMENT in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose; Past a' remead! The last, sad cape-stane o' his woes; Poor Mailie's dead! It's no the loss o' warl's gear, That could sae bitter draw the tear, |