Sonnet, On The Death Of Robert Riddel, Esq. Of Glenriddel, April, 1794.
By Robert Burns
No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more! Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul; Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend: How can I to the tuneful strain attend? That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies. Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe! And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier: The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, Is in his "narrow house" for ever darkly low. Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet, Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet.
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more!..."
This evocative piece by Robert Burns, titled "Sonnet, On The Death Of Robert Riddel, Esq. Of Glenriddel, April, 1794.", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...