whose obliging assistance, with no small difficulty, an entry was at length found, to the following effect :

"1760.

feet

Jany. 14. Duncan Robertson, Carpenter 6 £0 9 0

1786.

Oct. 12.

This lair is this day transferred to Peter Macpherson, ship-carpenter in Greenoek."

There could not of course remain the slightest doubt that the ground which contains the ashes of Highland Mary was bought by her relative at the very time when Robert Burns designed to sail from Greenock for the West Indies. Macpherson had, exactly as I conjectured, succeeded to a stone, which he had renovated, preserving only the sculpture of his predecessor's emblem of trade, because these were equally suitable for himself. Unless, then, we are to reject the family story entirely, and suppose it possible that Mary was buried here while Duncan Robertson possessed the ground, which, I am informed, the customs of sculpture in Greenock render to the last degree improbable, we must admit that her death took place in the latter part of 1786— consequently after her poet-lover had broken off his match with Jean Armour-in short, the piteous tale of the Highland Lassie comes in as one of several episodes that chequered the main attachment of Burns's life, and which terminated in making him at length a husband.

TO BURNS'S "HIGHLAND MARY."

FROM "BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE," v. lxvii., 1850, p. 309.

I.

O LOVED by him whom Scotland loves,
Long loved, and honoured duly
By all who love the bard who sang
So sweetly and so truly!

In cultured dales his song prevails,

Thrills o'er the eagles aëry

Ah! who that strain has caught, nor sighed
For BURNS's "Highland Mary?"

II.

I wandered on from hill to hill,
I fear'd nor wind nor weather;
For BURNS beside me trod the moor,-
Beside me pressed the heather.

I read his verse-his life-alas !
O'er that dark shades extended :-
With thee at last, and him in thee,
My thoughts their wanderings ended.

III.

His golden hours of youth were thine— Those hours whose flight is fleetest ; Of all his songs to thee he gave

The greatest and the sweetest. Ere ripe the fruit, one branch he brake, All rich with bloom and blossom; And shook its dews, its incense shook, Above thy brow and bosom.

IV.

And when his Spring, alas, how soon!
Had been by care subverted,
His Summer, like a god repulsed,
Had from his gates departed;
Beneath the evening star once more,
Star of his morn and even !

To thee his suppliant hands he spread,
And hail'd his love "in heaven."

V.

And if his spirit in a waste

Of shame too oft was squandered,
And if too oft his feet ill-starred
In ways erroneous wandered:
Yet still his spirit's spirit bathed
In purity eternal;

And all fair things thro' thee retained
For him their aspect vernal.

VI.

Nor less than tenderness remained
Thy favouring love implanted;
Compunctious pity, yearnings vague
For love to earth not granted;
Preserve with freedom, female grace
Well matched with manly vigour,
In songs where fancy twined her wreaths
Round judgment's stalwart rigour.

VII.

A mute but strong appeal was made
To him by feeblest creatures;
In his large heart each had a part—
That part had found in Nature's.
The wildered sheep, sagacious dog,
Old horse reduced and crazy,

The field-mouse by the plough upturned,
And violated daisy.

VIII.

In him there burned that passionate glow,
All Nature's soul and savour,
Which gives its hue to every flower,
To every fruit its flavour.

Nor less the kindred power he felt,

That love of all things human, Whereof the fiery centre is

The love man bears to woman.

IX.

He sang the dignity of man,

Sang woman's grace and goodness; Passed by the world's half-truths, her lies Pierced through with lance-like shrewdness. Upon life's broad highways he stood,

And aped nor Greek nor Roman;

But snatched from heaven Promethean fire
To glorify things common.

X.

He sang of youth, he sang of age,
Their joys, their griefs, their labours;
Felt with, not for, the people; hailed
All Scotland's sons his neighbours :
And therefore all repeat his verse-
Hot youth or graybeard, steady,
The boatman on Loch Etive's waves,
The shepherd on Ben Ledi.

XI.

He sang from love of song: his name

Dunedin's cliff resounded :

He left her faithful to a fame

On truth and nature founded.

He sought true fame not loud acclaim;
Himself and Time he trusted :

For laurels crackling in the flame

His fine ear never lusted.