I'll wander on, with tentless heed But why o' death begin a tale? Heave care owre side! And large, before enjoyment's gale, This life, sae far 's I understand, Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, The magic wand then let us wield ; When ance life's day draws near the gloamin', An' social noise; An' fareweel, dear deluding woman! O Life! how pleasant is thy morning, We wander there, we wander here, We eye the rose upon the brier, Unmindful that the thorn is near, Among the leaves; And tho' the puny wound appear, Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, And, haply, eye the barren hut With high disdain. And others, like your humble servan', Poor wights! nae rules nor roads observin'; To right or left, eternal swervin', In all her climes, Grant me but this, I ask no more, Ay rowth o' rhymes. "Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, And yill an' whiskey gie to cairds, "A title, Dempster merits it; But gie me real, sterling wit, And I'm content. ["Where can we find a more exhilarating enumeration of the enjoyments of youth, contrasted with their successive extinction as age advances, than in the epistle to James Smith?" PROFESSOR WALKER.] [The following happy and appropriate remarks are from the pen of "The Man of Feeling"-"The power of genius is not less admirable in tracing the manners than in painting the passions, or in drawing the scenery of nature. That intuitive glance with which a writer like Shakspeare discerns the character of men, with which he catches the many changing hues of life, forms a sort of problem in the science of mind, of which it is easier to see the truth than to assign the cause. Though I am far from meaning to compare our rustic bard to Shakspeare, yet whoever will read (this and) his (other) lighter and more humorous poems, his Twa Dogs'-his 'Dedication to Gavin Hamilton'-his Epistles to a Young Friend' and "To William Simpson,' will perceive with what uncommon penetration and sagacity this Heaven-taught Ploughman, from his humble and unlettered station, has looked upon men and manners."-HENRY M‘KENZIE.] The Vision. DUAN FIRST.* THE sun had clos'd the winter day, To kail-yards green, While faithless snaws ilk step betray Whare she has been. The thresher's weary flingin'-tree Ben i' the spence,‡ right pensivelie, There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, * Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressive poem. See his "Cath-Loda," vol. ii. of M'Pherson's translation. R. B. t [Curling is a wintry game peculiar to the southern counties of Scotland. When the ice is sufficiently strong on the lochs, a number of individuals, each provided with a large stone of the shape of an oblate spheroid, smoothed at the bottom, range themselves on two sides, and being furnished with handles, play against each other. The game resembles bowls, but is much more animated, and keenly enjoyed. It is well characterized by the Poet as a roaring play.] A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, Now bleezin' bright, Come full in sight. Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht; In some wild glen; When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, And stepped ben. Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs By that same token : A hair-brain'd, sentimental trace' Shone full upon her; Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, "Till half a leg was scrimply seen; And such a leg! my bonnie Jean Could only peer it, Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, Nane else came near it. [The parlour of the farm-house of Mossgiel-the only apartment besides the kitchen. This room still exists in the state in which it was when the Poet described it as the scene of his vision of Coila. Though in every respect humble, and partly occupied by fixed beds, it does not appear uncomfortable. Every consideration, however, sinks beneath the one intense feeling that here, within these four walls, warmed at this little fire-place, and lighted by this little window [it has but one], lived one of the most extraordinary men; and here wrote some of the most celebrated poems of modern times! CHAMBERS.] Her mantle large, of greenish hue, And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, Here, rivers in the sea were lost; There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods; And many a lesser torrent scuds, Low, in a sandy valley spread, She boasts a race Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare, My heart did glowing transport feel, While back-recoiling seem'd to reel His Country's Saviour, mark him well! And he whom ruthless fates expel There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade** Adam Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal preserver of Scottish independence. R. B. Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in command, under Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the action. R. B. **Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family seat of the Montgomeries of Coils-field, where his burial-place is still shown. R. B. [The spot pointed out by tradition as the burial-place of Coilus is a small mount marked by a few trees. It was opened May 29, 1837. when two sepulchral urns were found, attesting that tradition has been at least correct in describing the spot as a burialplace, though whose ashes these were, whether Coilus's, or whether such a personage as Coilus ever existed, it would be difficult to say.] tt Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice-Clerk (Sir Thomas Miller of Glenlee, afterwards President of the Court of Session). R. B. Catrine, the seat of the late Doctor, and present Professor, Stewart. R. B. [The Rev. Dr. Matthew Stewart, the celebrated mathematician, and his son, Mr. Dugald Stewart, the elegant expositor of the Scottish school of metaphysics, are here meant ; their villa of Catrine being situated on the Ayr.] Colonel Fullarton. R. B. "Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, "Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, "Then never murmur nor repine; "To give my counsels all in one, With soul erect; "And wear thou this,"-she solemn said, And, like a passing thought, she fled [This is one of the most artificial Poems of Burns's composition. It is in many places, however, highly poetical, and the appreciation of his own character is peculiarly striking." HOGG.] ["In the 'Vision' there are some vigorous and striking lines."-JEFFREY.] [Much of the man is in all Burns's productions; in the history of this poem we may read some of the vicissitudes of his love and friendship. In the original manuscript, the verse which descends into particulars about Coila, claimed for her a leg as straight, and tight, and tapering as that of Jean Armour; the destruction of the marriage lines brought a blight on his affection-he dethroned her in his Kilmarnock edition, and raised up another in her stead : Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen, Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, Halloween is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are all abroad on their baneful, midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the Fairies. are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary. R. B. Old affection triumphed by the time the Edinburgh edition was printed, and Jean was with pomp restored. Having extended his friendships after the first edition, he enlarged the robe of Coila, and emblazoned it with the history of the Wallaces who fought and were victorious at Stirling and Sark. He also admitted others of a later day to the honours of the mantle; and gave Coila more than she could well bear.-ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.] [Miss Rachael Dunlop, one of the daughters of Mrs. Dunlop, and who afterwards married Robert Glasgow, Esq., appears to have transferred the Coila of the Vision to canvas; for we find Burns, in February 1788, writing to that lady as follows: "I am highly flattered by the news you tell me of Coila. I may say to the fair painter who does me so much honour, as Dr. Beattie says to Ross the poet, of his Muse Scota, from which, by the bye, I took the idea of Coila; ('Tis a poem of Beattie's, in the Scottish dialect, which perhaps you have never seen):— 'Ye shake your head, but o' my fegs, Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs- In the Sketch on New Year's day, he says, Halloween." THE following poem will, by many readers, of those who are unacquainted with the manbe well enough understood; but, for the sake ners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added, to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.-BURNS. "Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, † VAR. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. GRAT'S ELEGY. MS. [The Variations are from MS. in Burns's hand-writing.] |