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doc, and especially in Roderick, he has relied Come listen to my lay, and ye shall hear on the truth of nature--as it is seen in the his

How Madoc from the shores of Britain spread

The adventurous sail, explored the ocean path, tory of great national transactions and events. And quell’d barbaric power, and overthrew In Thalaba and in Kehama, though in them,

The bloody altars of idolatry,

And planted on its fanes triumphantly too, he has brought to bear an almost bound

The Cross of Christ. Come, listen to my lay.” less lore, he follows the leading of Fancy and Imagination, and walks in a world of wonders. Of all his chief Poems the conception and the Seldom, if ever, has one and the same Poet execution are original; in much faulty and imexhibited such power in such different kinds perfect both ; but bearing throughout the imof Poetry-in Truth a Master, and in Fiction press of original power; and breathing a moral a Magician.

charm, in the midst of the wildest and someIt is easy to assert that he draws on his vast times even extravagant imaginings, that shall stores of knowledge gathered from books—and preserve them for ever from oblivion, embalmthat we have but to look at the multifarious ing them in the spirit of delight and of love. accumulation of notes appended to his great Fairy Tales-or tales of witchcraft and enPoems to see that they are not Inventions. chantment, seldom stir the holiest and deepest The materials of poetry indeed are there—often feelings of the heart; but Thalaba and Kehathe raw materials-seldum more ; but the Ima- ma do so; “the still sad music of humanity” gination that moulded them into beautiful, or is ever with us among all most wonderful and magnificent, or' wondrous shapes, is all his wild ; and of all the spells, and charms, and taown—and has shown itself most creative. lismans that are seen working strange effects Southey never was among the Arabians nor before our eyes, the strongest are ever felt to Hindoos, and therefore had to trust to travel be Piety and Virtue. What exquisite pictures lers. But had he not been a Poet he might of domestic affection and bliss! what sanctity have read till he was blind, nor ever seen

and devotion! Meek as a child is Innocence “The palm-grove inlanded amid the waste,"

in Southey's poetry, but mightier than any

giant. Whether matron or maid, mother or where with Oneiza in her Father's Tent

daughter-in joy or sorrow—as they appear “How happily the years of Thalaba went by!" before us, doing or suffering, “beautiful and In what guidance but that of his own genius dutiful,” with Faith, Hope and Charity their did he descend with the Destroyer into the Dom- guardian angels, nor Fear ever once crossing daniel Caves ? And who showed him the their path! We feel, in perusing such picSwerga's Bowers of Bliss? Who built for tures—“Purity! thy name is woman !” and are him with all its palaces that submarine City of not these Great Poems? We are silent. But the Dead, safe in its far-down silence from the should you answer “yes,” from us in our presuperficial thunder of the sea ? The greatness

sent mood you shall receive no contradiction. as well as the originality of Southey's genius

The transition always seems to us, we is seen in the conception of every one of his scarcely know why, as natural as delightful Five Chief Works—with the exception of Joan from Southey to Scott. They alone of all the of Arc, which was written in very early youth, poets of the day have produced poems in which and is chiefly distinguished by a fine enthu- are pictured and narrated, epicly, national chasiasm. They are one and all National Poems racters, and events, and actions, and catastro-wonderfuliy true to the customs and charac- phes. Southey has heroically invaded foreign ters of the inhabitants of the countries in which countries; Scott as heroically brought his are laid the scenes of all their various adven- power to bear on his own people; and both tures and enterprises--and the Poet has en

have achieved immortal triumphs. But Scottirely succeeded in investing with an individual land is proud of her great national minstrel interest each representative of a race. Thala- and as long as she is Scotland, will wash and ba is a true Arab—Madoc a true Briton-King warm the laurels round his brow, with rains Roderick indeed the Last of the Goths. Keha- and winds that will for ever keep brightening ma is a personage whom we can be made to their glossy verdure. Whereas England, unimagine only in Hindostan. Sir Walter con- grateful ever to. her men of genius, already fined himself in his poetry to Scotland-except Little Britain abuses his patriotism in his

often forgets the poetry of Southey; while -him across the Border; though in his novels litics. The truth is, that Scotland had forgotten and romances he was at home when abroad-her own history till Sir Walter burnished it all and nowhere else more gloriously than with up till it glowed again—it is hard to say wheSaladin in the Desert. Lalla Rookh is full of ther in his poetry or in his prose the brightestprilliant poetry; and one of the series-the and the past became the present. We know Fire Worshippers-is Moore's highest effort; now the character of our own people as it but the whole is too elaborately Oriental-and showed itself in war and peace-in palace, often in pure weariness of all that accumula- castle, hall, hut, hovel, and shieling—through tion of the gorgeous imagery of the East, we

centuries of advancing civilization, from the shut up the false glitter, and thank Heaven time when Edinburgh was first ycleped Auld that we are in one of the bleakest and barest Reekie, down to the period when the bright corners of the West. But Southey's magic is idea first occurred to her_inhabitants to call more potent-and he was privileged to ex- her the Modern Athens. This he has effected claim

by means of about one hundred volumes, each

exhibiting to the life about fifty characters, and “ Come, listen to a tale of times of old ! Come, for ye know me.

each character not only an individual in himOf Thalaba the wild and wondrous song.

self or herself, but the representative—so we

I am he who framed

offer to prove if you be skeptical-of a distinct and their Lady-loves, chiefly Scottish-of kings class or order of human beings, from the Mo- that fought for fame or freedom of fatal Flod. narch to the Mendicant, from the Queen to the den and bright Bannockburn--of the DEGipsy, from the Bruce to the Moniplies, from LIVERER. If that be not national to the teeth, Mary Stuart to Jenny Dennisoun. We shall Homer was no Ionian, Tyrtæus not sprung never say that Scott is Shakspeare; but we from Sparta, and Christopher North a Cockney. shall say that he has conceived and createdLet Abbotsford, then, be cognomed by those you know the meaning of these words—as that choose it, the Ariosto of the North-we many characters-real living flesh-and-blood shall continue to call him plain Sir Walter. human beings--naturally, truly, and consist- Now, we beg leave to decline answering our ently, as Shakspeare; who, always transcend- own question-has he ever written a Great antly great in pictures of the passions-out of Poem? We do not care one straw whether he their range, which surely does not comprehend has or not; for he has done this he has exall rational being-was--nay, do not threaten hibited human life in a greater variety of forms to murder us—not seldom an imperfect delinea- and lights, all definite and distinct, than any tor of human life. All the world believed that other man whose name has reached our ears; Sir Walter had not only exhausted his own ge- and therefore, without fear or trembling, we nius in his poetry, but that he had exhausted all tell the world to its face, that he is, out of all the matter of Scottish life-he and Burns to- sight, the greatest genius of the age, not forgether—and that no more ground unturned-up getting Goethe, the Devil, and Dr. Faustus. lay on this side of the Tweed. Perhaps he “What? Scott a greater genius than Byron!" thought so too for a while-and shared in the Yes-beyond compare. Byron had a vivid and general and natural delusion. But one morn- strong, but not a wide, imagination. He saw ing before breakfast it occurred to him, that in things as they are, occasionally standing proall his poetry he had done little or nothing-minently and boldly out from the flat surface though more for Scotland than any other of of this world; and in general, when his soul her poets except the Ploughman-and that it was up, he described them with a master's would not be much amiss to commence a New might. We speak now of the external world Century of Inventions. Hence the Prose Tales of nature and of art. Now observe how he -Novels and Romances—fresh floods of light dealt with nature. In his early poems he bepouring all over Scotland--and occasionally trayed no passionate love of nature, though we illuminating England, France, and Germany, do not doubt that he felt it; and even in the and even Palestine-whatever land had been first two cantos of Childe Harold he was an ennobled by Scottish enterprise, genius, va- unfrequent and no very devout worshipper at lour, and virtue.

her shrine. We are not blaming his lukewarmUp to the era of Sir Walter, living people had ness; but simply stating a fact. He had somesome vague, general, indistinct notions about thing else to think of, it would appear; and dead people mouldering away to nothing cen- proved himself a poet. But in the third canto, turies ago, in regular kirkyards and chance “a change came over the spirit of his dream, " burial-places, “'mang muirs and mosses many and he “babbled o' green fields," floods, and 0," somewhere or other in that difficultly-dis- mountains. Unfortunately, however, for his tinguished and very debatable district called originality, that canto is almost a cento--his the Borders. All at once he touched their model being Wordsworth. His merit, whattombs with a divining rod, and the turf streamed ever it may be, is limited therefore to that of out ghosts, some woodmen's dresses-most imitation. And observe, the imitation is not in warrior's mail: green arches leaped forth merely occasional or verbal; but all the dewith yew-bows and quivers--and giants stalked scriptions are conceived in the spirit of Wordsshaking spears. The gray chronicler smiled; worth, coloured by it and shaped-from it they and, taking up his pen, wrote in lines of light live, and breathe, and have their being; and the annals of the chivalrous and heroic days of that so entirely, that had the Excursion and auld feudal Scotland. The nation then, for Lyrical Ballads never been, neither had any the first time, knew the character of its ances- composition at all resembling, either in contors; for those were not spectres-not they ception or execution, the third canto of Childe indeed—nor phantoms of the brain-but gaunt Harold. His soul, however, having been flesh and blood, or glad and glorious ;-base awakened by the inspiration of the Bard of born cottage churls of the olden time, because Nature, never afterwards fell asleep, nor got Scottish, became familiar to the love of the drowsy over her beauties or glories; and much nation's heart, and so to its pride did the high- fine description pervades most of his subseborn lineage of palace-kings. The worst of quent works. He afterwards made much of Sir Walter is, that he has harried all Scotland. what he saw his own-and even described it Never was there such a freebooter. He hurries after his own fashion ; but a greater in that all men's cattle-kills themselves off hand, and domain was his instructor and guide-nor in makes bonfires of their castles. Thus has he his noblest efforts did he ever make any close disturbed and illuminated all the land as with approach to those inspired passages, which he the blazes of a million beacons. Lakes lie had manifestly set as models before his imagiwith their islands distinct by midnight as by nation. With all the fair and great objects in mid-day; wide woods glow gloriously in the the world of art, again, Byron dealt like a poet gloom; and by the stormy splendour you even of original genius. They themselves, and not see ships, with all sails set, far at sea. His descriptions of them, kindled it up; and thus favourite themes in prose or numerous verse," thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,' are still “Knights and Lords and mighty Earls," I do almost entirely compose the fourth canto

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which is worth, ten times over, all the rest. sent to say, that so far from having no souls The impetuosity of his career is astonishing; -a whim of Mahomet's, who thought but of never for a moment does his wing flag; ever their bodies--women are the sole spiritual and anon he stoops but to soar again with a beings that walk the earth not unseen; they more majestic sweep; and you see how he glo-alone, without pursuing a complicated and ries in his flight--that he is proud as Lucifer. scientific system of deception and hypocrisy, The first two cantos are frequently cold, cum- are privileged from on high to write poetry. brous, stiff, heavy, and dull; and, with the ex- We-men we mean-may affect a virtue, ception of perhaps a dozen stanzas, and these though we have it not, and appear to be infar from being of first-rate excellence, they are spired by the divine afflatus. Nay, we somefound wofully wanting in the true fire. Many times often-are truly so inspired, and write passages are but the baldest prose. Byron, like Gods. A few of us are subject to fits, and after all, was right in thinking—at first--but in them utter oracles. But the truth is too poorly of these cantos; and so was the friend, glaring to be denied, that all male rational not Mr. Hobhouse, who threw cold water upon creatures are in the long run vile, corrupt, and them in manuscript. True, they “made a pro- polluted; and that the best man that ever died digious sensation," but bitter-bad stuff has often in his bed within the arms of his distracted done that; while often unheeded or unheard wife, is wickeder far than the worst woman has been an angel's voice. Had they been suf- that was ever iniquitously hanged for murderfered to stand alone, long ere now had they ing what was called her poor husband, who in been pretty well forgotten; and had they been all cases righteously deserved his fate. Purity followed by other two cantos no better than of mind is incompatible with manhood; and a themselves, then had the whole four in good monk is a monster-so is every Fellow of a time been most certainly damned. But, fortu- College, and every Roman Catholic Priest, nately, the poct, in his pride, felt himself from Father O'Leary to Dr. Doyle. Confespledged to proceed; and proceed he did in a sions, indeed! Why, had Joseph himself consuperior style; borrowing, stealing, and rob- fessed all he ever felt and thought to Potiphar's bing, with a face of aristocratic assurance that wife, she would have frowned him from her must have amazed the plundered; but inter- presence in all the chaste dignity of virtuous mingling with the spoil riches fairly won by indignation, and so far from tearing off his his own genius from the exhaustless treasury garment, would not have touched it for the of nature, who loved her wayward, her wicked, whole world. But all women-till men by and her wondrous son. Is Childe Harold, then, marriage, or by something, if that be possible, a Great Poem? What! with one half of it worse even than marriage, try in vain to relittle above mediocrity, one quarter of it not duce them nearly to their own level-are pure original in conception, and in execution swarm- as dewdrops or moonbeams, and know not the ing with faults, and the remainder glorious ? meaning of evil. Their genius conjectures it; As for his tales——the Giaour, Corsair, Lara, and in that there is no sin. But their genius Bride of Abydos, Siege of Corinth, and so forth loves best to image forth good, for 'tis the they are all spirited, energetic, and passionate blessing of their life, its power, and its glory; performances—sometimes nobly and some- and hence, when they write poetry, it is retimes meanly versified--but displaying neither ligious, sweet, soft, solemn, and divine. originality nor fertility of invention, and assu- Observe, however-to prevent all mistakes redly no wide range either of feeling or of —that we speak but of British women—and thought, though over that range a supreme of British women of the present age. Of the dominion. Some of his dramas are magnifi- German Fair Sex we know little or nothing; cent--and in many of his smaller poems, but daresay that the Baroness la Motte Fouqué pathos and beauty overflow. Don Juan exhi- is a worthy woman, and as vapid as the Baron. bits almost every kind of talent; and in it the Neither make we any allusion to Madame Gendegradation of poetry is perfect.

lis, or other illustrious Lemans of the French But there is another glory belonging to this school, who charitably adopted their own naage, and almost to this age alone of our poétry tural daughters, while other less pious ladies, the glory of Female Genius. We have heard who had become mothers without being wives, and seen it seriously argued whether or not sent theirs to Foundling Hospitals. We restrict women are equal to men; as if there could be ourselves to the Maids and Matrons of this a moment's doubt in any mind unbesotted by Island—and of this Age; and as it is of poetisex, that they are infinitely superior; not in cal genius that we speak-we name the names understanding, thank Heaven, nor in intellect, of Joanna Baillie, Mary Tighe, Felicia Heout in all other “impulses of soul and sense” mans, Caroline Bowles, Mary Howitt, Letitia that dignify and adorn human beings, and Elizabeth Landon, and the Lovely Norton; make them worthy of living on this delightful while we pronounce several other sweet-soundearth. Men for the most part are such worth-ing Christian surnames in whispering underless wretches, that we wonder how women tones of affection, almost as inaudible as the condescended to allow the world to be carried sound of the growing of grass on a dewy on; and we attribute that phenomenon solely evening. to the hallowed yearnings of maternal affec- Corinna and Sappho must have been women tion, which breathes as strongly in maid as in of transcendant genius so to move Greece. matron, and may be beautifully seen in the For though the Greek character was most imchild fondling its doll in its blissful bosom. pressible and combustible, it was so only to Tbiloprogenitiveness! But not to pursue that the finest finger and fire. In that delightful interesting speculation, suffice it for the pre- | land dunces were all dumb. Where genius alone spoke and sung poetry, how hard to ex- | imagination as his own. For, in the act of cel! Corinna and Sappho did excel—the one, imagination, he can suppress in his mind its it is said, conquering Pindar-and the other own peculiar feelings-its good and gracious all the world but Phaon.

affections-call up from their hidden places But our own Joanna has been visited with those elements of our being, of which the seeds a still loftier inspiration. She has created were sown in him as in all-give them unnatragedies which Sophocles-or Euripides-tural magnitude and power-conceive the disnay, even Æschylus himself

, might have fear- order of passions, the perpetration of crimes, ed, in competition for the crown. She is our the tortures of remorse, or the scorn of that Tragic Queen; but she belongs to all places human weakness, from which his own gentle as to all times; and Sir Walter truly said let bosom and blameless life are pure and free. them who dare deny it--that he saw her Ge- He can bring himself, in short, into an imaginius in a sister shape sailing by the side of nary and momentary sympathy with the wickthe Swan of Ayon. Yet Joanna loves to pace ed, just as his mind falls of itself into a natural the pastoral mead; and then we are made to and true sympathy with those whose character think of the tender dawn, the clear noon, and is accordant with his own; and watching the the bright meridian of her life, past among the emotions and workings of his mind in the tall cliffs of the silver Calder, and in the lone- spontaneous and in the forced sympathy, he some heart of the dark Strathaven Muirs. knows and understands from himself what

Plays on the Passions ! “ How absurd !" passes in the minds of others. What is done said one philosophical writer. “This will ne- in the highest degree by the highest genius, is ver do. It has done--perfectly. What, pray, done by all of ourselves in lesser degree, and is the aim of all tragedy? The Stagyrite has unconsciously, at every moment, in our intertold us to purify the passions by pity and course with one another. To this kind of symterror. They ventilate and cleanse the soul-pathy, so essential to our knowledge of the till its atmosphere is like that of a calm, bright human mind, and without which there can be summer day. All plays, therefore, must be on neither poetry nor philosophy, are necessary a the Passions. And all that Joanna intended largeness of heart which willingly yields itself and it was a great intention greatly effected to conceive the feelings and states of others was in her Series of Dramas to steady her pur- whose character is utterly unlike its own, and poses by ever keeping one great end in view, freedom from any inordinate overpowering of which the perpetual perception could not passion which quenches in the mind the feel. fail to make all the means harmonious, and ings of nature it has already known, and places therefore majestic. One passion was, there- it in habitual enmity to the affections and hapfore, constituted sovereign of the soul in each piness of its kind. To paint bad passions, is glorious tragedy-sovereign sometimes by di- not to praise them: they alone can paint them vine right-sometimes an usurper--generally well who hate, fear, or pity them; and therea tyrant. In De Monfort we behold the horrid fore Baillie has done sonay start not-better reign of Hate. But in his sister-the seraphic than Byron. sway of Love. Darkness and light sometimes Well may our land be proud of such women. opposed in sublime contrast—and sometimes None such ever before adorned her poetical the light swallowing up the dạrkness-or annals. Glance over that most interesting “smoothing its raven down till it smiles." volume, "Specimens of British Poetesses,” by Finally, all is black as night and the grave, that amiable, ingenious, and erudite man, the for the light, unextinguished, glides away into Reverend Alexander Dyce, and what effulgence some far-off world of peace. Count Basil! begins to break towards the close of the A woman only could have imagined that divine eighteenth century! For ages on ages the drama. How different the love Basil feels for genius of English women had ever and anon Victoria from Anthony's for Cleopatra! Pure, been shining forth in song; but faint though deep, high as the heaven and the sea. Yet on fair was the lustre, and struggling imprisonea it we see him borne away to shame, destruc- in clouds. Some of the sweet singers of those tion, and death. It is indeed his ruling pas- days bring tears to our eyes by their simple sion. But up to the day he first saw her face pathos-for their poetry breathes of their own his ruling passion had been the love of glory. sorrows, and shows that they were but too faAnd the hour he died by his own hand was miliar with grief. But their strains are mere troubled into madness by many passions; for melodies “sweetly played in tune." The are they not all mysteriously linked together, deeper harmonies of poetry seem to have been sometimes a dreadful brotherhood ?

beyond their reach. The range of their power Do you wonder how one mind can have such was limited. Anne, Countess of Winchelsea vivid consciousness of the feelings of another, -Catherine Phillips, known by the name of while their characters are cast in such different Orinda--and Mrs. Anne Killigrew, who, as moulds? It is, indeed, wonderful—but the Dryden says, was made an angel,“ in the last power is that of sympathy and genius. The promotion to the skies,”-showed, as they sang dramatic poet, whose heart breathes love to all on earth, that they were all worthy to sing in living things, and whose overflowing tender- heaven. But what were their hymns to those ness diffuses itself over the beauty even of that are now warbled around us from many unliving nature, may yet paint with his cre- sister spirits, pure in their lives as they, but ative hand the steeled heart of him who sits on brighter far in their genius, and more fortunate a throne of blood--the lust of crime in a mind in its nurture. Poetry from female lips was polluted with wickedness—the remorse of acts then half a wonder and half a reproach. But which could never pass in thought through his now 'tis no longer rare-not even the highest-yes, the highest--for Innocence and Purity are lar, and read by the same classes with a still of the highest hierarchies; and the thoughts greater eagerness of delight. Into this mystery and feelings they inspire, though breathed in we shall not now inquire; but we mention it words and tones, “gentle and low, an excellent now merely to show how divine a thing true thing in woman,” are yet lofty as the stars, and genius is, which, burning within the bosoms humble too as the flowers beneath our feet. of a few favourite sons of nature, guards them

We have not forgotten an order of poets, pe- from all such pollution, lifts them up above it culiar, we believe, to our own enlightened land all, purifies their whole being, and without --a high order of poets sprung from the lower consuming their family affections or friendorders of the peoplemand not only sprung ships, or making them unhappy with their lot, from them, but bred as well as born in the and disgusted with all about them, reveals to huts where poor men lie,” and glorifying their them all that is fair and bright and beautiful in condition by the light of sung. Such glory be- feeling and in imagination, makes them very longs—we believe-exclusively to this country poets indeed, and should fortune favour, and and to this age. Mr. Southey, who in his own chance and accident, gains for them wide over high genius and fame is never insensible to the the world, the glory of a poet's name. virtues of his fellow-men, however humble From all such evil influences incident to and obscure the sphere in which they may their condition—and we are now speaking but move, has sent forth a volume—and a most of the evil-The Five emerged; and first and interesting one-on the uneducated poets; nor foremost-Burns. Our dearly beloved Thomas shall we presume to gainsay one of his bene- Carlyle is reported to have said at a dinner volent words. But this we do say, that all the given to Allan Cunningham in Dumfries, that verse-writers of whom he there treats, and all Burns was not only one of the greatest of the verse-writers of the same sort of whom he poets, but likewise of philosophers. We hope does not treat, that ever existed on the face of not. What he did may be told in one short the earth, shrink up into a lean and shrivelled sentence. His genius purified and ennobled bundle of leaves or sticks, compared with these in his imagination and in his heart the chaFive-Burns, Hogg, Cunningham, Bloomfield, racter and condition of the Scottish peasantry and Clare. It must be a strong soil--the soil -and reflected them, ideally true to nature, in of this Britain-which sends up such products; the living waters of Song. That is what he and we must not complain of the clime beneath did; but to do that, did not require the highest which they grow to such height, and bear such powers of the poet and the philosopher. Nay, fruitage. The spirit of domestic life must be had he marvellously possessed them, he never sound--the natural knowledge of good and evil would have written a single line of

the poetry high--the religion true--the laws just--and of the late Robert Burns. Thank Heaven for the government, on the whole, good, methinks, not having made him such a man—but merely that have all conspired to educate these chil- the Ayrshire Ploughman. He was called into dren of genius, whose souls Nature had framed existence for a certain work, for the fulness of of the finer clay.

time was come-but he was neither a ShakSuch men seem to us more clearly and cer- speare, nor a Scott, nor a Goethe; and therefore ainly men of genius, than many who, under he rejoiced in writing the Saturday Night, and different circumstances, may have effected the Twa Dogs, and the Holy Fair, and O' a' higher achievements. For though they en- the Airts the Win' can blaw, and eke the joyed in their condition ineffable blessings to Vision. But forbid it, all ye Gracious Powers! dilate their spirits, and touch them with all that we should quarrel with Thomas Carlyletenderest thoughts, it is not easy to imagine, on and that, too, for calling Robert Burns one of the other hand, the deadening or degrading the greatest poets and philosophers. influences to which by that condition they Like a strong man rejoicing to run a race, were inevitably exposed, and which keep down we behold Burns in his golden prime; and the heaven-aspiring flame of genius, or ex- glory gleams from the Peasant's head, far and tinguish it wholly, or hold it smouldering under wide over Scotland. See the shadow tottering all sorts of rubbish. Only look at the attempts to the tomb! frenzied with fears of a prisonin verse of the common run of clodhoppers. for some five pound debt-existing, perhaps, Buy a few ballads from the wall or stall—and but in his diseased imagination-for, alas! you groan to think that you have been born-- sorely diseased it was, and he too, at last, such is the mess of mire and filth which often, seemed somewhat insane. He escapes that without the slightest intention of offence, those disgrace in the grave. Buried with his bones rural, city, or suburban bards of the lower be all remembrances of his miseries! But the orders prepare for boys, virgins, and matrons, spirit of song, which was his true spirit, unwho all devour it greedily, without suspicion. polluted and unfallen, lives, and breathes, and Strange it is that even in that mural minstrelsy, has its being, in the peasant-life of Scotland; occasionally occurs a phrase or line, and even his songs, which are as household and sheepstanza, sweet and simple, and to nature true; fold words, consecrated by the charm that is but consider it in the light of poetry read, re- in all the heart's purest affections, love and cited, and sung by the people, and you might pity, and the joy of grief, shall never decay, till well be appalled by the revelation therein among the people have decayed the virtues made of the tastes, feelings, and thoughts of which they celebrate, and by which they were the lower orders. And yet in the midst of all inspired; and should some dismal change in the popularity of such productions, the best of the skies ever overshadow the sunshine of our Burns' poems, his Cottar's Saturday Night, and national character, and savage storms end in most delicate of his songs, are still more popu- sullen stillness, which is moral death, in the

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