Localities of Burns

When the bright crescent gleam'd o'er hill and dale
We saw the poet's lowly place of birth,
The Kirk, erewhile the scene of fiendish mirth,
The brig that parted Maggie and her tail.
We saw his bust, we saw the cenotaph,
Which on the skirts of that fair garden stands,
And Tarn o' Shanter with his soundless laugh
Over his empty cup and stony hands —
All these were present, but the bard was gone
No more to tune his pipe on plain or hill,
Nor multiply the moon from Willie's mill.
But oh! how fondly still that crescent moon
Hung with her golden horns o'er bonnie Doon,
As though she look'd to be mis-counted still.