~ THE LAST FAREWELL ~
There can be nothing crueller in this world
than finding the truest love only to have it wrenched from you.
I can not go on.
The wind will hold her secret and deep in a cold tomb in the Auld St Cyrus Kirkyard,
this raging pain of lost love…
will finally, be silenced.
FLINTLOCK PISTOL BALL INDENTATION AT THE EXACT DEATH SPOT ON THE AULD NETHER KIRKYARD WALL
OUR BRASS MEMORIAL PLAQUE AT THE EXACT DEATH SPOT ON THE AULD NETHER KIRKYARD WALL
~ THE APPEAL ~
SAY, what is worse than black despair,
’Tis that sick hope too weak for flying,
That plays at fast and loose with care,
And wastes a weary life in dying.
Though promise to be a welcome guest,
Yet it may be too late a comer.
’Tis but a cuckoo voice at best,
The joy of spring, scarce heard in summer.
Then now consent this very hour,
Let the kind word of peace be spoken;
Like dew upon a wither’d flower,
Is comfort to the heart that’s broken.
The heart, whose will is from above,
May yet its mortal taint discover;
For time, which cannot alter love,
Hath power to kill the hapless lover.
George Beattie’s final and most poignant poem :-
~ FAREWELL SONNET ~
FAREWELL, maid, thy love has vanish’d;
Gone off like the morning dew,
Farewell, maid, my peace is banish’d;
Adieu! a sad, a long adieu!
Weary world, I now must leave thee;
Sun and moon, a long farewell;
Farewell, maid, no more I’ll grieve thee,
Soon you’ll hear my funeral knell.
Soon the lips that oft have kiss’d thee,
Mouldering in the dust will lie;
And the heart that oft hath blessed thee,
Soon must cease to heave a sigh.
Soon the tongue that still rehearses
All thy beauty, fickle fair;
Soon the hand that writes these verses
Shall to kindred dust repair.
Friends that constant were, and true aye,
Fare-you-well, my race is run;
Heartless, lorn, benighted, weary,
Every earthly hope is gone.
Gloomy grave, you’ll soon receive me,
All my sorrows here shall close;
Here no fickle fair shall grieve me;
Here my heart shall find repose.