On The Death Of David Doig, Ll. D. Master Of The Grammar School, Stirling Poem by Hector Macneill

He's gane! - he's gane! - ah! welladay!
The spirit's flown that warm'd the clay!
The light has fled that cheer'd the way
Through lear's mirk page;
Fir'd the young breast wi' fancy's ray,
And charm'd the sage!

The sun has set that beam'd sae bright!
Nae radiance shines on Strevlin's height!
Nae star glints now wi' saften'd light
On fancy's bower!
But dark and silent is the night
In Doig's tower!

In Doig's tower, whar aft and lang
The mingling notes o' learning rang;
And aft her fav'rite minstrel sang;
In varied key;
Wi' Horace saft! wi' Homer strang,
Wi' Pindar hie!

In Doig's tower, whar late and air
Ilk bud o' genius blossom'd fair;
Nurs'd by the fostering hand o' care,
They sprang to view;
Burst into sweets, and far and near
The fragrance flew!

He's gane! - he's gane! - Strevlinea, mourn!
Ah! drap the sant tear on his urn!
The light again will ne'er return
That cheer'd ye a';
The fire that bleiz'd nae mair will burn
In yonder ha'!