too prophetic, to admit of his looking at life dramatically. In fact, no poet of modern times has had in him so much of the prophet. In the world of Nature, to be the revealer of things hidden, the sanctifier of things common, the interpreter of new and unsuspected relations, the opener of another sense in men; in the moral world, to be the teacher of truths hitherto neglected or unobserved, the awakener of men's hearts to the solemnities that encompass them, deepening their reverence for the essential soul, apart from accident and circumstance, making us feel more truly, more tenderly, more profoundly, lifting the thoughts upward through the shows of time to that which is permanent and eternal, and bringing down on the transitory things of eye and ear some shadow of the eternal, till We feel through all this fleshly dress this is the office which he will not cease to fulfil as long as the English lasts. What Earth's far-off lonely mountains do for the plains and the cities, that Wordsworth has done and will do for literature, and through literature for society; sending down great rivers of higher truth, fresh, purifying winds of feeling, to those who least dream from what quarter they come. The more thoughtful of each generation will draw nearer and nearer and observe him more closely, will ascend his imaginative heights, and sit under the shadow of his profound meditations, and, in proportion as they do so, will become more noble and pure in heart. J. C. SHAIRP: 1868. 8 Winsome marrow is pleasant companion; a phrase much used in the old ballad poetry of Scotland. In this case, the "winsome marrow" was the poet's sister. 2 "Let Yarrow folk, from Selkirk town, Go back to Yarrow, 't is their own; But we will downward with the Tweed, 3 There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed 4 There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow: 4 What's Yarrow but a river bare, As worthy of your wonder." Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn; My true-love sigh'd for sorrow; And look'd me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow! 5 "O, green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms," Fair hangs the apple from the rock, O'er hilly path and open strath, 6 We'll wander Scotland thorough ;7 But, though so near, we will not turn 4 Lintwhite is but another form of linnet. 6 Holm is meadow, or a low, flat tract of rich land on the banks of a river. 6 Strath is much the same as holm; low, alluvial land. 7 Through and thorough are, properly, but different forms of the same word, and the two were formerly used indiscriminately. Of course the old usage is here admitted for the rhyme. THOUGHTS ON BURNS. 6 Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 7 Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! The treasured dreams of times long past, 8 If Care with freezing years should come, Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy; Should life be dull, and spirits low, That Earth has something yet to show, 375 WORDSWORTH. THOUGHTS ON BURNS: SUGGESTED NEAR HIS RESIDENCE, ON THE BANKS OF THE NITH. 1 Too frail to keep the lofty vow That must have follow'd when his brow Was wreathed (The Vision tells us how) 8 Yarrow is a stream made classic by many dear old tales and ballads of "love and sorrow"; and the poet fears that the reality will break the spell of romance, and dissipate the pleasing vision he has of the spot. 9 The Vision is the title of one of Burns's longer poems. A portion of it is given on page 132, under the heading, "The Genius of Scotland." He falter'd, drifted to and fro, 2 Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng Indulged as if it were a wrong To seek relief. 3 But, leaving each unquiet theme Let us beside this limpid stream 4 Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight; When wisdom prosper'd in his sight 5 Yes, freely let our hearts expand, Our pleasure varying at command 6 How oft inspired must he have trod Or in his nobly-pensive mood, 7 Proud thoughts that image overawes; And ask of Nature, from what cause ROBERT BURNS AS A MAN. She train'd her Burns to win applause 8 Through busiest street and loneliest glen He rules 'mid winter snows, and when Deep in the general heart of men 9 What need of fields in some far clime Shall dwell together till old Time 10 Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven And memory of Earth's bitter leaven, 11 But why to him confine the prayer, With all that live? The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive! 377 WORDSWORTH. ROBERT BURNS AS A MAN. We love Burns, and we pity him; and love and pity are prone to magnify. Criticism, it is sometimes thought, should be a cold business we are not sure of this; but, at all events, our concern with Burns is not exclusively that of critics. True and genial as his poetry must appear, it is not chiefly as a poet, but as a man, |