Oh! spare to sweep, thou mournful blast, His grave grass-grown. There, too, a Son, his joy and pride, (Not three weeks past the Stripling died,) Lies gathered to his Father's side, Soul-moving sight! Yet one to which is not denied For he is safe, a quiet bed Hath early found among the dead, And surely here it may be said And oh! for Thee, by pitying grace Receive thy Spirit in the embrace Sighing, I turned away; but ere Music that sorrow comes not near, Chanted in love that casts out fear By Seraphim. III. THOUGHTS SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE BANKS OF NITH, NEAR THE POET'S RESIDENCE. Too frail to keep the lofty vow That must have followed when his brow Was wreathed "The Vision" tells us how With holly spray, He faltered, drifted to and fro, And passed away. Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng Our minds when, lingering all too long, Over the grave of Burns we hung In social grief, Indulged as if it were a wrong But, leaving each unquiet theme Let us beside this limpid Stream Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight; His course was true, When Wisdom prospered in his sight Yes, freely let our hearts expand, Our pleasure varying at command How oft inspired must he have trod These pathways, yon far-stretching road! There lurks his home; in that Abode, With mirth elate, Or in his nobly pensive mood, The Rustic sate. Proud thoughts that Image overawes, She trained her Burns to win applause Through busiest street and loneliest glen Are felt the flashes of his pen; He rules 'mid winter snows, and when Bees fill their hives; Deep in the general heart of men His power survives. What need of fields in some far clime Shall dwell together till old Time Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven And memory of Earth's bitter leaven, But why to Him confine the prayer, The best of what we do and are, * See note. IV. TO THE SONS OF BURNS, AFTER VISITING THE GRAVE OF THEIR FATHER. "The Poet's grave is in a corner of the churchyard. We coked at it with melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses, — Is there a man whose judgment clear,' &c." Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-traveller. 'MID crowded obelisks and urns I sought the untimely grave of Burns; And more would grieve, but that it turns Through twilight shades of good and ill And more than common strength and skill If ye would give the better will Its lawful sway. Hath Nature strung your nerves to bear Like him can speed The social hour, - of tenfold care |