Changes not so with us, my Skene,
Of human life the varying scene? 
Our youthful summer oft we see
Dance by on wings of game and glee,
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 110
Against the winter of our age: 
As he, the ancient Chief of Troy,
His manhood spent in peace and joy;
But Grecian fires, and loud alarms,
Call’d ancient Priam forth to arms. 115
Then happy those, since each must drain
His share of pleasure, share of pain,—­
Then happy those, beloved of Heaven,
To whom the mingled cup is given;
Whose lenient sorrows find relief, 120
Whose joys are chasten’d by their grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine,
When thou, of late, wert doom’d to twine,—­
Just when thy bridal hour was by,—­
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 125
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled,
And bless’d the union of his child,
When love must change its joyous cheer,
And wipe affection’s filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end, 130
Speak more the father than the friend: 
Scarce had lamented Forbes paid
The tribute to his Minstrel’s shade;
The tale of friendship scarce was told,
Ere the narrator’s heart was cold—­ 135
Far may we search before we find
A heart so manly and so kind! 
But not around his honour’d urn,
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn;
The thousand eyes his care had dried, 140
Pour at his name a bitter tide;
And frequent falls the grateful dew,
For benefits the world ne’er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim
The Almighty’s attributed name, 145
Inscribe above his mouldering clay,
‘The widow’s shield, the orphan’s stay.’ 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem
My verse intrudes on this sad theme;
for sacred was the pen that wrote, 150
‘Thy father’s friend forget thou not:’ 
And grateful title may I plead,
For many a kindly word and deed,
To bring my tribute to his grave:—­
’Tis little—­but ’tis all I have. 155

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain
Recalls our summer walks again;
When, doing nought,—­and, to speak true,
Not anxious to find aught to do,—­
The wild unbounded hills we ranged, 160
While oft our talk its topic changed,
And, desultory as our way,
Ranged, unconfined, from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance,
No effort made to break its trance, 165
We could right pleasantly pursue
Our sports in social silence too;
Thou gravely labouring to pourtray
The blighted oak’s fantastic spray;
I spelling o’er, with much delight, 170
The legend of that antique knight,