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ling of debt; and I have learned from good authority that his household was much more frugally managed at Dumfries than at Ellisland -as in the former place, but not in the latter, he had it in his power to exercise a personal control over the expenditure. I have been told also, that, after his death, the domestic expenses were greater than when he was alive. These facts are all consistent with a considerable de

ter of Burns was in conformity with the full developement of acquisitiveness. According to his own descriptions," says Mr. Cox, "he was a man who had little art in making money, and still less in keeping it.' That his art in making money was sufficiently moderate there can be no doubt, for he was engaged in occupations which his soul loathed, and thought it below his dignity to accept of pecuniary remuneration for some of his most labori-velopement of acquisitiveness, for, when that ous literary performances. He was, however, by no means insensible to the value of money, and never threw it away. On the contrary, he was remarkably frugal, except when feelings stronger than acquisitiveness came into playsuch as benevolence, adhesiveness, and love of approbation; the organs of all which are very large, while acquisitiveness is only rather large. During his residence at Mossgiel, where his revenue was not more than £70, his expenses, as Gilbert mentions, never in any one year exceeded his slender income.' It is also well known that he did not leave behind him a shil

organ is small, there is habitual inattention to pecuniary concerns, even although the love of independence and dislike to ask a favour be strong. The indifference with respect to money, which Burns occasionally ascribes to himself, appears therefore to savour of affectation-a failing into which he was not unfrequently led by love of approbation and secretiveness. Indeed, in one of his letters to Miss Chalmers, he expressly intimates a wish to be rich." The whole of this essay is highly worthy of perusal by all who take an interest in the character of the Ayr-shire bard.]

POEMS WRITTEN IN MEMORY OF BURNS.

[The following poems form part of a vast number of verses written at various periods and in various moods in memory Burns: too few perhaps are selected; but to admit all would be to print a volume.] I hear the river's rushing noise,

A POEM ADDRESSED TO BURNS

BY

MR. TELFORD.

"A great number of manuscript poems," says Dr. Currie," were found among the papers of Burns, addressed to him by admirers of his genius, from different parts of Britain, as well as from Ireland and America. Among these was a poetical epistle from Mr. Telford, of Shrewsbury, of superior merit. It is written in the dialect of Scotland (of which country Mr. Telford is a native) and in the versification generally employed by our Poet himself. Its object was to recommend to him other subjects of a serious nature, similar to that of the Cotter's Saturday Night;' and the reader will find that the advice was happily enforced by example :—

Pursue, O Burns! thy happy style,
"Those manner-painting strains," that while
They bear me northward mony a mile,
Recall the days
When tender joys, with pleasing smile,
Blest my young ways.

I see my fond companions rise,
I join the happy village joys,

I see our green hills touch the skies,

And thro' the woods

The late eminent engineer.

The banks of the Esk, in Dumfries-shire, are here

alluded to.

Its roaring floods.†

No distant Swiss with warmer glow,
E'er heard his native music flow,
Nor could his wishes stronger grow,

Than still have mine,
When up this ancient mount I go
With songs of thine.

O happy Bard! thy gen'rous flame,
Was given to raise thy country's fame;
For this thy charming numbers came,
Thy matchless lays;
Then sing and save her virtuous name,
To latest days.

But mony a theme awaits thy muse,
Fine as thy Cotter's sacred views,
Then in such verse thy soul infuse,
With holy air,
And sing the course the pious chuse,
With all thy care.

How with religious awe imprest,
They open lay upon his breast,
And youth and age with fears distrest,
All due prepare,

The symbols of eternal rest,
Devout to share. §

of

rather forms a part of, Shrewsbury Castle, a scat of Sir William Pulteney, Bart.

The sacrament, generally administered in the country A beautiful little mount, which stands a little before, or parishes of Scotland in the open air.

How down ilk lang withdrawing hill,
Successive crowds the valleys fill,
While pure religious converse still
Beguiles the way,

And gives a cast to youthful will,
To suit the day.

How placed along the sacred board,
Their hoary pastor's looks ador'd;
His voice with peace and blessings stor❜d,
Sent from above;

And faith, and hope, and joy afford,
And boundless love.

O'er this with warm seraphic glow,
Celestial beings pleased bow,
And, whisper'd, hear the holy vow,
'Mid grateful tears;
And mark amid such scenes below
Their future peers.

*

O mark the awful, solemn scene!*
When hoary winter clothes the plain,
Along the snowy hills is seen

Approaching slow,
In mourning weeds the village train,
In silent woe.

Some much-respected brother's bier
(By turns in pious task they share)
With heavy hearts they forward bear
Along the path;

Where nei'bours saw, in dusky air,†
The light of death.

And when they pass the rocky brow,
Where binwood bushes o'er them flow,
And move around the rising knowe,

Where far away The kirk-yard trees are seen to grow, By th' water brae.

Assembled round the narrow grave, While o'er them wintry tempests rave, In the cold wind their grey locks wave, As low they lay

Their brother's body 'mongst the lave
Of parent clay.

Expressive looks from each declare
The griefs within their bosoms bear,
One holy vow devout they share,

Then home return,
And think o'er all the virtues fair
Of him they mourn.

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* A Scottish funeral.

Is aught on earth so lovely known, On sabbath morn, and far alone, His guileless soul all naked shown Before his God?

Such pray'rs must welcome reach the throne, And blest abode.

O tell! with what a heartfelt joy,
The parent eyes the virtuous boy;
And all his constant kind employ
Is how to give

The best of lear he can enjoy,
As means to live.

The parish school, its curious site,
The master who can clear indite,
And lead him on to count and write,
Demand thy care;

Nor pass the ploughman's school at night
Without a share.

Nor yet the tenty curious lad,
Who o'er the ingle hings his head,
And begs of nei'bours books to read;
For hence arise
Thy country's sons who far are spread,
Baith bauld and wise.

*

The bonny lasses, as they spin,
Perhaps with Allan's sangs begin,
How Tay and Tweed smooth flowing rin
Thro' flow'ry hows;
Where shepherd lads their sweethearts win
With earnest vows.

Or maybe, Burns, thy thrilling page,
May a' their virtuous thoughts engage,
While playful youth and placid age
In concert join

To bless the Bard who, gay or sage,
Improves the mind.

*

Long may their harmless, simple ways,
Nature's own pure emotions raise;
May still the dear romantic blaze
Of purest love,

Their bosoms warm to latest days,
And aye improve.

May still each fond attachment glow,
O'er woods, o'er streams, o'er hills of snow,
May rugged rocks still dearer grow,

And may their souls
Even love the warlock glens which through
The tempest howls.

To eternize such themes as these,
And all their happy manners seize,
Will every virtuous bosom please,
And high in fame,
To future times will justly raise
Thy patriot name.

Annandale, that a light precedes in the night every funeral,

†This alludes to a superstition prevalent in Eskdale and marking the precise path it is to pass.

While all the venal tribes decay,
That bask in flatt'ry's flaunting ray,
The noisome vermin of a day,

Thy works shall gain O'er every mind a boundless sway, And lasting reign.

When winter binds the harden'd plains,
Around each hearth, the hoary swains,
Shall teach the rising youth thy strains,
And anxious say

Our blessing with our sons remains,
And BURNS'S LAY!

ON THE DEATH OF BURNS.

BY

WILLIAM ROSCOE.

REAR high thy bleak majestic hills,
Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread,
And, SCOTIA, pour thy thousand rills,
And wave thy heaths with blossoms red.
But ah! what poet now shall tread

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign,
Since he, the sweetest bard is dead

That ever breath'd the soothing strain? As green thy towering pines may grow, As clear thy streams may speed along, As bright thy summer suns may glow,

As gaily charm thy feathery throng;
But now, unheeded is the song,

And dull and lifeless all around,
For his wild harp lies all unstrung,
And cold the hand that wak'd its sound.

What tho' thy vigorous offspring rise,
In arts, in arms, thy sons excel;
Tho' beauty in thy daughters' eyes,
And health in every feature dwell;
Yet who shall now their praises tell,
In strains impassion'd, fond and free,
Since he no more the song shall swell
To love, and liberty, and thee?

With step-dame eye and frown severe
His hapless youth why didst thou view?
For all thy joys to him were dear,

And all his vows to thee were due:
Nor greater bliss his bosom knew,

In opening youth's delightful prime, ¡
Than when thy favoring ear he drew
To listen to his chaunted rhyme.
Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies
To him were all with rapture fraught;
He heard with joy the tempest rise

That wak'd him to sublimer thought:
And oft thy winding dells he sought,

Where wild flowers pour'd their rathe perfume, And with sincere devotion brought

To thee the summer's earliest bloom.

But ah! no fond paternal smile
His unprotected youth enjoy'd ;

His limbs inur'd to early toil,

His days with early hardships tried:
And more to mark the gloomy void,
And bid him feel his misery,
Before his infant eyes would glide
Day-dreams of immortality.

Yet, not by cold neglect depress'd,
With sinewy arm he turn'd the soil,
Sunk with the evening sun to rest,

And met at morn his earliest smile.
Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile
The powers of fancy came along,
And sooth'd his lengthen'd hours of toil
With native wit and sprightly song.
-Ah! days of bliss too swiftly fled,
When vigorous health from labour springs,
And bland contentment smoothes the bed,
And sleep his ready opiate brings;
And hovering round on airy wings
Float the light forms of young desire,
That of unutterable things

The soft and shadowy hope inspire.

Now spells of mightier power prepare,

Bid brighter phantoms round him dance; Let flattery spread her viewless snare,

And fame attract his vagrant glance; Let sprightly pleasure too advance,

Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone, "Till lost in love's delirious trance

He scorn the joys his youth has known.

Let friendship pour her brightest blaze,
Expanding all the bloom of soul;
And mirth concenter all her rays,

And point them from the sparkling bowl; And let the careless moments roll

In social pleasures unconfin'd,
And confidence that spurns control
Unlock the inmost springs of mind;

And lead his steps those bowers among,
Where elegance with splendor vies,
Or science bids her favor'd throng

To more refin'd sensations rise:
Beyond the peasant's humbler joys,

And freed from each laborious strife, There let him learn the bliss to prize

That waits the sons of polish'd life.

Then, whilst his throbbing veins beat high
With every impulse of delight,
Dash from his lips the cup of joy,

And shroud the scene in shades of night;
And let despair, with wizard light,
Disclose the yawning gulf below,
And pour incessant on his sight

Her specter'd ills and shapes of woe:

And shew beneath a cheerless shed,

With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes, In silent grief where droops her head, The partner of his early joys;

And let his infant's tender cries

His fond parental succour claim, And bid him hear in agonies

A husband's and a father's name.

'Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds;
His high reluctant spirit bends;
In bitterness of soul he bleeds,
Nor longer with his fate contends,
An idiot laugh the welkin rends
As genius thus degraded lies;
'Till pitying Heaven the veil extends
That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes.

-Rear high thy bleak majestic hills,
Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread,
And, SCOTIA, pour thy thousand rills

And wave thy heaths with blossoms red But never more shall poet tread

Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, Since he, the sweetest bard is dead

That ever breath'd the soothing strain.

d;

ODE TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS.

BY

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

Soul of the Poet! wheresoe'er,
Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume
Her wings of immortality,
Suspend thy harp in happier sphere,
And with thine influence illume
The gladness of our jubilee.

And fly like fiends from secret spell,
Discord and strife at Burns's name,
Exorcised by his memory;

For he was chief of bards that swell
The heart with songs of social flame
And high delicious revelry.

And love's own strain to him was given
To warble all its extacies

With Pythian words, unsought, unwilled
Love, the surviving gift of heaven,
The choicest sweet of paradise
In life's else bitter cup distilled.

Who that has melted o'er his lay
To Mary's soul in heaven above,
But pictured sees, in fancy strong,
The landscape and the livelong day
That smiled upon their mutual love,-
Who, that has felt, forgets the song?

Nor skilled one flame above to fan
His country's high-souled peasantry;
What patriot pride he taught ;-how much

To weigh the inborn worth of man!
And rustic life and poverty
Grow beautiful beneath his touch,

Him in his clay-built cot the muse
Entranced, and showed him all the forms
Of fairy-light and wizard gloom,
(That only gifted poet views)
The genii of the floods and storms,
And martial shades from glory's tomb.

On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse
The swain whom Burns's song inspires?
Beat not his Caledonian veins,
As o'er the heroic turf he ploughs,
With all the spirit of his sires,

And all their scorn of death and chains?

And see the Scottish exile, tanned
By many a far and foreign clime,
Bend o'er his home-born verse and weep,
In memory of his native land,
With love that scorns the lapse of time,
And ties that stretch beyond the deep.

Encamped by Indian rivers wild,
The soldier resting on his arms,
In Burns's carol sweet recals
The scenes that blest him when a child,
And glows and gladdens at the charms
Of Scotia's woods and waterfalls.

O deem not, midst this worldly strife,
An idle art the poet brings;
Let high philosophy controul,
And sages calm the stream of life;
"Tis he refines its fountain springs,
The nobler passions of the soul.

It is the muse that consecrates
The native banner of the brave,
Unfurling at the trumpet's breath
Rose, thistle, harp-'tis she elates
To sweep the field or ride the wave,
A sunburst in the storm of death.

And thou, young hero, when thy pall
Is crossed with mournful sword and plume,
When public grief begins to fade,
And only tears of kindred fall,
Who but the bard shall dress thy tomb,
And greet with fame thy gallant shade?

Such was the soldier ;-Burns, forgive
That sorrows of mine own intrude
In strains to thy great memory due.
In verse like thine, oh! could he live
The friend I mourned, the brave, the good,
Edward* that died at Waterloo !

* Major Edward Hodge, of the 7th Hussars, who fell at the head of his squadron in the attack on the Polish lancers.

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TO A FRIEND

WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING NO MORE POETRY.

BY

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

[ween

DEAR Charles, whilst yet thou wert a babe, I
That genius plunged thee in that wizard tount
Hight Castalie: and (sureties of thy faith)
That Pity and Simplicity stood by, [nounce
And promised for thee that thou shouldst re-
The world's low cares and lying vanities,
Steadfast and rooted in the heavenly muse,
And washed and sanctified to poesy. [hand
Yes-thou wert plunged, but with forgetful
Held, as by Thetis erst her warrior son;
And with those recreant unbaptized heels
Thou 'rt flying from thy bounden ministries-
So sore it seems and burthensome a task [dead?
To weave unwithering flowers. Is thy Burns
Thy Burns, and nature's own beloved bard,
Who to the "Illustrious of his native land
So properly did look for patronage."
Ghost of Mæcenas! hide thy blushing face!
They snatched him from the sickle and the
To gauge ale firkins.
[plough

Oh! for shame return!
On a bleak rock, mid-way the Aonian mount,
There stands a lone and melancholy tree,
Whose aged branches to the midnight blast
Make solemn music: pluck its darkest bough
Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be enhaled,
And, weeping, wreathe it round thy poet's tomb.
Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow,
Pick the rank henbane, and the dusky flowers
Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit;
These, with stopped nostril and glove-guarded
Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine [hand,
The illustrious brow of Scotch nobility!

ON THE ANNIVERSARY

OF

BURNS'S BIRTH-DAY.

BY

JAMES MONTGOMERY,

WHAT bird in beauty, flight, or song,
Can with the bard compare,

Who sang as sweet and soar'd as strong
As ever child of air?

1796.

His plume, his note, his form could BURNS, For whim or pleasure, change;

He was not one, but all by turns,

With transmigration strange :—

poems to the nobility and gentry of the Caledonian Hunt.

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