Explore "The Widow of Glencoe" by W.E. Aytoun on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Do not lift him from the bracken, / Leave him lying where he fell -- / Better bier ye cannot fashion: / None beseems him half so well / As the bare and broken heather, / And the hard and trampled sod, / Whence his angry soul ascended / To the judgment-seat of God!
Winding-sheet we cannot give him -- / Seek no mantle for the dead, / Save the cold and spotless covering / Showered from heaven upon his head.