164 BURNS HIS HIGHLAND MARY. tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the Banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewel, before she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of Autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock: where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days! - before I could even hear of her illness.". vol. v. p. 237, 238. Mr. Cromek has added, in a note, the following interesting particulars; though without specifying the authority upon which he details them : "This adieu was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotions and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and, holding a Bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. They parted never to meet again! · - "The anniversary of Mary Campbell's death (for that was her name) awakening in the sensitive mind of Burns the most lively emotion, he retired from his family, then residing on the farm of Ellisland, and wandered, solitary, on the banks of the Nith, and about the farm yard, in the extremest agitation of mind, nearly the whole of the night: His agitation was so great, that he threw himself on the side of a corn stack, and there conceived his sublime and tender elegy- his address To Mary in Heaven.". vol. v. p. 228. The poem itself is as follows: 66 Thou lingering star, with less ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn! "O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? "That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, "Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! "Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green, The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. TAM O'SHANTER THE VISION. 165 "The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, "My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?". Vol. i. p. 125, 126. Of his pieces of humour, the tale of Tam o' Shanter is probably the best: though there are traits of infinite merit in Scotch Drink, the Holy Fair, the Hallow E'en, and several of the songs; in all of which, it is very remarkable, that he rises occasionally into a strain of beautiful description or lofty sentiment, far above the pitch of his original conception. The poems of observation on life and characters, are the Twa Dogs and the various Epistles-all of which show very extraordinary sagacity and powers of expression. They are written, however, in so broad a dialect, that we dare not venture to quote any part of them. The only pieces that can be classed under the head of pure fiction, are the Two Bridges of Ayr, and the Vision. In the last, there are some vigorous and striking lines. We select the passage in which the Muse describes the early propensities of her favourite, rather as being more generally intelligible, than as superior to the rest of the poem. "I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Drove through the sky, I saw grim Nature's visage hoar Struck thy young eye. "Or when the deep-green mantl'd earth Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, And joy and music pouring forth There is another fragment, called also a Vision, which belongs to a higher order of poetry. If Burns had never written any thing else, the power of description, and the vigour of the whole composition, would have entitled him to the remembrance of posterity. "The winds were laid, the air was still, 66 The fox was howling on the hill, And the distant-echoing glens reply. The stream adown its hazelly path, The cauld blue north was streaming forth Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din; By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, "Had I a statue been o' stane, His darin' look had daunted me; I winna ventur't in my rhymes."- vol. iv. 344 - 346. 167 Some verses, written for a Hermitage, sound like the best parts of Grongar Hill. The reader may take these few lines as a specimen: 66 As thy day grows warm and high, Life's meridian flaming nigh, Dost thou spurn the humble vale? Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold, Soar around each cliffy hold, While cheerful peace, with linnet song, Chants the lowly dells among."— vol. iii. p. 299. There is a little copy of Verses upon a Newspaper at p. 355. of Dr. Currie's 4th volume, written in the same condensed style, and only wanting translation into English to be worthy of Swift. The finest piece, of the strong and nervous sort, however, is undoubtedly the address of Robert Bruce to his army at Bannockburn, beginning, "Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled." The Death Song, beginning, "Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, is to us less pleasing. There are specimens, however, of such vigour and emphasis scattered through his whole works, as are sure to make themselves and their author remembered; for instance, that noble description of a dying soldier. "Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings teaze him: Death comes! wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gi'es him; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathing leaves him In faint huzzas!"— vol. iii. p. 27. The whole song of "For a' that," is written with extraordinary spirit. The first stanza ends -All the songs, indeed, abound with traits of this kind. We select the following at random: We dare not proceed further in specifying the merits of pieces which have been so long published. Before concluding upon this subject, however, we must beg leave to express our dissent from the poet's amiable and judicious biographer, in what he says of the general harshness and rudeness of his versification. Dr. Currie, we are afraid, was scarcely Scotchman enough to comprehend the whole prosody of the verses to which he alluded. Most of the Scottish pieces, are, in fact, much more carefully versified than the English; and we appeal to our Southern readers, whether there be any want of harmony in the following stanza: "Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps Even I who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, Bold-following where your fathers led!"-vol. iii. p. 233. The following is not quite English; but it is intelligible to all readers of English, and may satisfy them that the Scottish song-writer was not habitually negligent of his numbers: "Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, "Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies, |