The Poems of Robert Fergusson

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1815 edition. Excerpt: ...the Death of Mr. David Gregory, late Professor of Mathematics in the University of St. Andrew's. NOW mourn, ye college masters a'! An' frae your ein a tear let fa', Fam'd Gregory death has ta'en awa' Without remeid; The skaith ye've met wi's nae that sma', Sin' Gregory's dead. The students too will miss him sair, To school them weel his eident care. Now they may mourn for ever mair, They hae great need; They'll hip the maist fek o' their lear. Sin' Gregory's dead. He could, by Euclid, prove lang sine A ganging point compos'd a line; By numbers too he could divine, Whan he did read, That three times three just made up nine; But now he's dead. r In Algebra weel skill'd he was, An' kent fu' weel proportion's laws; lie cou'd mak clear baith JJ's and A's Wi' his lang head; Rin owr surd roots but cracks or flaws; But now he's dead. Weel vers'd was he in architecture, An' kent the nature of the sector, Upo' baith globes he weel cou'd lecture, An' gar's tak heed; O' geometry he was the Hector; But now he's dead. Sae weel's he'd fley the students a', Whan they were skelpin' at the ba', They took leg-bail, and ran awa' Wi' pith an' speed; We winna get a sport sae bra', Sin' Gregory's dead. Great 'casion hae we a' to weep, An' cleed our skins in mournin'.deep For Gregory death will fairly keep To tak his nap; He'll till the resurrection sleep As sound's a tap. THE DAFT DAYS. NOW mirk December's dowie face, Glowrs owr the rigs wi' sour grimace, While, thro' his minimum o' space, The bleer-ey'd sun, Wi' blinkin light and stealing pace, His tace doth run. Frae naked groves nae birdie sings, To shepherd's pipe nae hillock ring, The breeze nae orl'rous flavour brings Frae Bofean cave, And dwynin Nature droops her wings, Wi' visage grave. Mankind but scanty...