Here will she come, and on the grave will sit,
Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit ;
But, if observer pass, will take her round,
And careless seem, for she would not be found;
Then go again, and thus her hour employ,
While visions please her, and while woes destroy.

Forbear, sweet maid! nor be by fancy led,
To hold mysterious converse with the dead;
For sure at length thy thoughts, thy spirit's pain,
In this sad conflict, will disturb thy brain;
All have their tasks and trials; thine are hard,
But short the time, and glorious the reward;
Thy patient spirit to thy duties give,
Regard the dead, but, to the living, live.

FROM TALES OF THE HALL.-BOOK XII.

DANGER OF A FIRST TRANSGRESSION.

Still there was virtue ;-but a rolling stone
On a hill's brow is not more quickly gone;
The slightest motion, ceasing from our care,-
A moment's absence,-when we're not aware,-
When down it rolls, and at the bottom lies,
Sunk, lost, degraded, never more to rise!
Far off the glorious height from whence it fell,
With all things base and infamous to dwell.

FOR upwards of two centuries, Scotland had exhibited no poet of great eminence in her own dialect. The transference of the Court to London precipitated the fall of the Scottish language from the sphere of rank and fashion; its voice was uttered only occasionally along a line of songs springing like wild flowers from the heart of the people, their authors in many instances nameless. These have been collected with veneration and diligence in modern times, and, inclusive of the Jacobite poetry, form one of the finest collections of this class of literature that any nation can boast. The middle of the eighteenth century produced Allan Ramsay and Robert Fergusson. They were followed by Robert Burns, a poet who has given to his country's language a European reputation. All three, it may be remarked, like most of their successors, sprung from the humbler classes of the people.

Robert Burns was born near Ayr, in 1759, in the yet venerated claybuilt cottage which his father's hands had constructed. Reared amidst

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a religious and virtuous household struggling with poverty and toil, he enjoyed only the ordinary education of a Scottish peasant. A smattering of French, a little mathematics, some half dozen English authors, some exercise in local debating clubs, the fire-side religious instruction of his father, the songs of his mother, and the traditional legends of an old female domestic,-these constituted the early intellectual stock in trade of the poet. From his youth song burst from him incontrollably; "his passions," he himself says, raged like so many devils," till quenched in the stream of his verse. A nature susceptible, wayward, impetuous, proud, and, even in youth, shadowed with hypochondria, could not give promise of a life of prudence and steadiness. His father had died in embarrassment and distress; a farm leased by Robert and his brother Gilbert was, like the family's former agricultural speculations, totally unsuccessful; this, combined with the consequences of the poet's own indiscretion, forced him to think of seeking a more propitious fortune in the West Indies. The publication of his poems at Kilmarnock had, however, given him fame, and when on the point of embarking for Jamaica, he was advised to try what patronage might do for him in the Scottish capital. He was received with unbounded applause by rank and learning: nobility owned the title of low-born genius to higher respect than birth can confer; and learning was amazed by the judgment, the untaught eloquence, and the splendid wit, that enabled the academic rustic to cope with her acquirements. The Edinburgh edition of his poems yielded the poet, it is said, nearly £900. Rescued thus from poverty, he retired to the farm of Elliesland on the Nith, in Dumfriesshire, with his wife (formerly Miss Armour-"Bonnie Jean") and her children. The disadvantages of his farm, added to his own careless

management, compelled him in two or three years to throw up his lease, and rely on the prospect of promotion in the excise, in which he had procured an appointment. The jealousy excited by some parts of his conduct, by satirical lines on the royal family, and by imprudent political jeux-d'esprit, drew down upon him suspicion, but, as is now proved, would not have prevented his advancement had he lived. Meanwhile, his health was daily undermined by the dissipation into which he was seduced, and by the importunities of hundreds who sought him for the charms of his conversation. He died in 1796 at Dumfries. The sorrow of his country was universal. The mausoleums erected to his memory would have amply "stowed his pantry;" but the patronage denied to the unfortunate poet has been generously extended to his family.

The physical frame of Burns in his prime corresponded to the massive qualities of his mind; his unaffected semi-farmer dress, his stalwart bearing, his expressive thoughtful face, above all his kindling eye, were in perfect keeping with his genius. The prominent feature of the poetry of Burns is its intensity; tenderness, patriotism, humour, friendship, love, all are presented in immortal brightness. Yet Burns displays little of the spiritualism of the poetic temperament; the character of most of his poetry is best described by the modern term sensuousness. Crabbe has the same attribute in a different sphere of objects, and his genius is invested with a higher and purer morality. Cowper has the earnestness of Burns, but it is not of the same fervid and impetuous character; Burns has the benign philosophy of Crabbe, but tinged with more genial and attractive hues. In Cowper's muse we miss totally the inspiration of love; while every string of the Scottish poet thrills with its intensest ardours. Among the peculiar attributes of Burns must not be omitted his nationality: his whole heart and soul are essentially Scottish.

The principal poems of Burns are "The Twa Dogs," "Hallowe'en," "Tam o' Shanter," "The Cottar's Saturday Night," "The Vision," "The Jolly Beggars," epistles, satires, political ballads, etc., and a large collection of songs, unparalleled in the whole compass of our lyrical poetry. Many of these the poet executed gratuitously, as a labour of love for Johnson's Museum of Scottish song and Thomson's Scottish Melodies. He left also an extensive body of correspondence. Among the biographers of Burns are Currie, Lockhart, Cunningham, and Chambers.

FROM THE TWA DOGS.

PUIR FOLK.

THEY'RE no sae wretched's ane wad think,
Though constantly on poortith's brink;
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight,

The view o't gies them little fright.

Their chance and fortune are sae guided,
They're aye in less or mair provided;
And though fatigued wi' close employment
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment.
The dearest comfort o' their lives,
Their grushie1 weans and faithfu' wives;

1 Thick; of thriving growth. Comp. Fr. gros.; Eng. grow.

FROM THE TWA DOGS.

The prattling things are just their pride,
That sweetens a' their fireside;
And whiles twalpenny1 worth o' nappy
Can mak' the bodies unco2 happy;
They lay aside their private cares,
To mind the kirk and state affairs;
They'll talk o' patronage and priests,
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts,
Or tell what new taxation's comin',
And ferlie at the folk in Lon'on.

As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns,
They get the jovial, ranting kirns,"
When rural life, o' every station,
Unite in common recreation;

Love blinks, wit slaps, and social mirth
Forgets there's care upo' the earth.
That merry day the year begins,
They bar the door on frosty wins;
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam;
The luntin' pipe and sneeshin' mill
Are handed round wi' right good will;
The cantie auld folks crackin' crouse,"
The young anes rantin' through the house.

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EDINBURGH CASTLE AND HOLYROOD PALACE.

There, watching high the least alarms,
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar,
Like some bold veteran, grey in arms,
And mark'd with many a seamy scar;
The ponderous wall and massy bar,
Grim rising o'er the rugged rock,
Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repell'd the invader's shock.

With awe-struck thought and pitying tears
I view that noble, stately dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
Famed heroes! had their royal home.
Alas! how changed the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust!
Their hapless race wild-wandering roam,"
Though rigid law cries out, 'twas just !

1 A penny Sterling: nappy, ale; adj., tipsy; nap, a cup.

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2 Very; unco, adj., strange, unknown; uncouth has originally the same meaning.

3 Wonder (verb and noun).

4 All-saints'-day (1st Nov.): its eve (see Burns's Hallowe'en) is a great festival among the Scottish peasantry.

5 Harvest Home feasts.

Eng, cream; so leam; Eng. gleam; roup (cough); Eng. croup.

Cheerful.

11 Burns in his youth was an amateur Jacobite.

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors in days of yore,
Through hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps,
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore.
Even I, who sing in rustic lore,

Haply, my sires have left their shed,
And faced grim danger's loudest roar,
Bold, following where your fathers led !

SONG.

Go fetch to me a pint of wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie;1
That I may drink, before I go,
A service to my bonnie lassie.
The boat rocks at the Pier o' Leith,

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry.

The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bluidy :
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore,
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar-
It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary.

FROM THE COTTAR'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;2
The shortening winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The blackening trains o' craws to their repose:
The toil-worn cottar frae his labour goes;

This night his weekly moil is at an end;
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn3 in ease and rest to spend,
And weary, owre the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

The expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher thro',

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee.

1 Cup; Fr. tasse. The Scottish language abounds with words imported from France during the long and intimate political connection between the countries, in the centuries when England was their common enemy.

2 Rough breathing sound; Ang.-Sax. siccan; Eng, sigh; Gr. psyche.

3 Morrow.

4 Stagger.