770

WHAT adverse fate awaits the tuneful train! Has OTWAY died, and SPENSER liv'd in vain! In vain has COLLINS, Fancy's pensive child, Pour'd his lone plaint by Arun's windings wild? And SAVAGE, on Misfortune's bosom bred, Bar'd to the howling storm his houseless head? Who gentle SHENSTONE's fate can hear unmov'd,

By virtue, elegance, and genius lov'd?
Yet, pensive wand'ring o'er his native plain,
His plaints confess'd he lov'd the Muse in vain;
Chill Penury invades his favourite bower,
Blasts every scene, and withers every flower;
His warning Muse to Prudence turn'd her
strain,
[vain;

But Prudence sung to thoughtles bards in
Still restless Fancy drives them headlong on.
With dreams of wealth, and friends, and
laurels won-

On Ruin's brink they sleep, and wake undone.

And see where Caledonia's Genius mourns, And plants the holly round the grave of BURNS:

But late its "polish'd leaves and berries red
Play'd graceful round the rural Poet's head,"
And, while with manly force and native fire
He wak'd the genuine Caledonian lyre,
Tweed's severing flood exulting heard her tell,
Not Roman wreaths the holly could excel;
Not Tiber's stream along Campania's plain,
More pleas'd convey'd the gay Horatian
strain;

Than bonny Doon, or fairy-haunted Ayr,
That wont his rustic melody to share,

Resound along their banks the pleasing theme.
Sweet as their murmurs, copious as their

But when he sung to the attentive plain,
The humble virtues of the Patriarch swain,
His evening worship, and his social meal,
And all a parent's pious heart can feel;
To genuine worth we bow submissive down,
And wish the cotter's lowly shed our own;
With fond regard our native land we view;
Its cluster'd hamlets, and its mountains blue,
Our "virtuous populace," a nobler boast
Than all the wealth of either India's coast.
Yet while our hearts with admiration burn,
Too soon we learn that "man was made to
mourn."

The independent wish, the taste refin'd,
The energies of the superior mind,

And Feeling's generous pangs, and Fancy's glow,

And all that liberal Nature could bestow,
To him profusely given, yet given in vain;
Misfortune aids and points the stings of pain.

How blest, when wand'ring by his native
Ayr,

[care; He "woo'd the willing muse," unknown to But when fond admiration spread his name, A candidate for fortune and for fame, In evil hour he left the tranquil shade, Where Youth and Love with Hope and Fancy play'd;

Yet rainbow-colours gild the novel scene,
Deceitful fortune sweetly smil'd like JEAN;
Now courted oft by the licentious gay,
With them through devious paths behold him
stray.

The opening rose conceals the latent thorn,
Convivial hours prolong'd awake the morn;
Even Reason's sacred power is drown'd in
wine,

And Genius lays her wreath on Folly's shrine.
Too sure, alas! the world's unfeeling train
Corrupt the simple manners of the swain;
The blushing Muse indignant scorns his lays,
And Fortune frowns, and honest Fame decays;
Till low on earth he lays his sorrowing head,
And sinks untimely 'midst the vulgar dead.

Yet while for him, belov'd, admir'd, in vain, Thus fond Regret pours forth her plaintive strain ; [hearse, While Fancy, Feeling, Taste, their griefs reAnd deck with artless tears his mournful hearse,

See Cunning, Dullness, Ignorance, and Pride,
Exulting o'er his grave, in triumph ride;
And boast "though Genius, Humour, Wit,
agree,"

Cold selfish Prudence far excels the three; [go,
Nor think, while grovelling on the earth they
How few can mount so high to fall so low.
Thus Vandals, Goths, and Huns exulting come,
T' insult the ruins of majestic Rome;
But ye who honour Genius-sacred beam!
From holy light a bright ethereal gleam,

Ye whom his happier verse has taught to glow, Now to his ashes pay the debt you oweDraw Pity's veil o'er his concluding scene, And let the stream of bounty flow for JEAN.

The mourning matron and her infant train, Will own you did not love the Muse in vain; While sympathy with liberal hand appears, To aid the orphans' wants, and dry the widow's

tears.

Song

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH

DAY OF ROBERT BURNS.

Written for the "CALEDONIAN SOCIETY," London, 1840, BY ANDREW PARK.

BRAVE Scotland-Freedom's throne on Earth!
A bumper to thy glory!
This day thy matchless Bard had birth,

So fam'd in song and story!
Where'er thy mountain-sons may stray,
Thou'st thrown thy magic round them,
And on this ever-hallow'd day

In kindred love hast bound them.
He nobly walk'd behind his plough,
And gaz'd entranc'd on nature;
While genius grac'd his lofty brow,
And play'd in every feature!
For then, inspir'd by glowing songs,

Of "Bruce," or "Highland Mary,"
The minstrel-birds, in joyous throngs,

Around their Bard would tarry!

But wae's my heart! he sings nae mair
In strains o' joy or sorrow;
Though on the bonny banks o' Ayr,
His spirit smiles each morrow!*
And Scotia's muse-enthron'd on high-
The great, the gentle-hearted!
Sits with the tear-drop in her eye,
And mourns her Bard departed!

O sacred land of gallar. men!

Of maidens unassuming!
Who dwell obscure by loch and glen,

Where still the thistle's blooming;
How well has Burns rehears'd your praise,
Among your cloud-capt mountains,
In never-dying, tuneful lays,

Pure as your native fountains!
Then fill the sparkling goblet high,
Let joy illume each manly eye,
And let no discord stain it;

While to the dregs we drain it!
To Burns! to Burns! the King of Song!
Whose lyre shall charm all ages!
Mirth, wisdom, love, and satire strong,
Adorn his deathless pages!

THE explanation of Scottish words by Burns in his brief, but valuable, glossary annexed to the earlier editions of his poems, is now extended to words and phrases contained in his songs and other posthumous pieces. All his definitions have been scrupulously retained, and to these have been added such illustrations from poetic and proverbial lore as cannot fail being acceptable even to readers intimate with the varied dialect of the north. The Scottish dialect, with which the English language of much of our verse is sprinkled, sometimes defies even description: these expressive northern words were only adopted because the language of the south, though rich to overflowing, had nothing to offer as an equivalent. This is peculiarly the case with Burns: his works abound with words, and phrases, and allusions, which can neither be translated nor explained in their native spirit and force.

Yet some have thought it strange that Burns should be as popular in the south as in the

All.

north: this is not at all wondered at by those who are familiar with the very varied and forcible dialects of the English provinces. The truth is that the Scottish language is essentially Saxon, coloured a little with the Celtic, and as such is as well, perhaps better, understood in one half of the English counties than the scholastic language of Johnson and Gibbon.

Burns introduces his Glossary with these directions. "The ch and gh have always the guttural sound. The sound of the English diphthong oo is commonly spelled ou. The French u, a sound which often occurs in the Scottish language, is marked oo, or ui. The a, in genuine Scottish words, except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad English a in wall. The Scottish diphthong ae always, and ea very often, sound like the French e masculine. The Scottish diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei."

Agee.

On one side.

"Whilk pensylie he wears a thought agee." Ramsay. Quarter of the heaven, point of the compass. "And under what airt of the heaven so high." G. Douglas.

"He swore the great aith bodily." Oats.

A

A'.

Airt.

An oath.

Aboon.

"Gaur'd puir Duncan stan' abeigh." Burns. Above, up.

Aits.

"Aboon the town upon the southwart side."

Blind Harry.

Wyntown.

Scottish Song.

"Where aits are fine an' sald by kind.”

An old horse.

Suppose I were ane auld yaud aiver." Dunbar. A hot cinder, an ember of wood.

"She noticed na an aizle brunt

Alas.

"O dool and alake!" an exclamation of sorrow. Alone.

"And hald his heritage hir alane." Wyntown. Awkward, athwart.

"As he glaid by akwart he couth him ta." Blind Harry.

Almost.

"A midge is as big as a mountain a' but amaist." Scots Saying.

Among. "I met four chaps yon birks amang." Boswell. And, if.

Alake.

Alane. Akwart.

Ramsay.

Amaist.

Scots Saying.

"An' pried it aft, as ye may trow." Macneil "Aften I have young sportive gilpies seen." Ramsay.

Amang. An'.

Agley.

Off the right line, wrong, awry.

"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley."

Burns.

Own.

"This is no my ain house,

Airn.

"The man may aiblins tyne a stot," Montgomery.

"And o', quo' he, an' I were as free." King Jas. V. Ane. Ance. One. Once.

"But giff it war ane or twa." Over-against, concerning, about.

"Nature made her what she is,

And never made anither."

Barbour.

Burns.

I ken by the biggin' o't."

Iron, a tool of that metal, a mason's chisel. "Thraw me thro' my airns, quo' the gude Gordon, They cost the town o' Dumfries fu' dear."

Airles.
Earnest money.
Airl-penny. A silver penny given as airles or hiring money.
"Your proffer o' luves an' airl-pennie." Burns.

"My mither she's a scauldin' jaud,

Hauds a' the house asteer."

Old Song.

"Aqueesh twa queans I kenna how to look."

Scottish Rhyme.