Thro' many a wild, romantic grove, An aged Judge, I saw him rove, Dispensing good. With deep-struck reverential awe They gave their lore, This, all its source and end to draw, That, to adore. Brydone's brave ward I well could spy, Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye; Who call'd on fame, low standing by, To hand him on, Where many a patriot-name on high And hero shone. DUAN SECOND.; With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, When with an elder sister's air She did me greet. 'All hail! my own inspired bard! 'In me thy native muse regard! 'Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, Thus poorly low! 'I come to give thee such reward 'As we bestow.] 'Know the great genius of this land 'Has many a light aerial band, This apparition issues from the class of local superstitions. It is a bold personification of that great word (alas! that it should be no more than a word) which gained the victories of Bruce and Wallace, that of William Tell, and still nearer to our own age, those of Washington, &c. Generally speaking, the songs of Burns, in the natural or lofty department of poetry, are more dramatic than descriptive. Burns associates but few traits of the landscape which surrounds him with the sentiments he expresses. Possessing little acquaintanceship with letters, still less does he admit images |