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T'hy image at our last embrace;

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.

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day!
"Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

46

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?"
Vol. i. pp. 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,
Delighted with the dashing roar ;
Or when the North his fleecy store
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

In ev'ry grove,

I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth

With boundless love.
"When ripen'd fields, and azure skies,
Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys.
And lonely stalk,
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk.

"When youthful love, warm, blushing, strong,
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents grateful to thy tongue,
Th' adored Name,

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I taught thee how to pour

in song,

To sooth thy flame. I saw thy pulse's maddening play, Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray,

By Passion driven;

But yet the light that led astray

Was light from heaven!" Vol. iii. pp. 109, 110.

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,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.
"The stream adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roaring swells an' fa's.

"The cauld blue north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din;
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win!

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By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And by the moon-beam, shook, to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,

Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.

"Had I a statue been o' stane,

His darin' look had daunted me;
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain,
The sacred posy-Liberty!

"And frae his harp sic strains did flow,

Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear; But oh, it was a tale of woe,

As ever met a Briton's ear!
"He sang wi' joy the former day,
He weeping wail'd his latter times-
But what he said, it was nae play,
I winna ventur't in my rhymes."

Vol. iv. 344-346.

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"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 News-
paper at p. 355, of Dr. Currie's fourth 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,

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'Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth and ye skies,

Now gay with the bright setting sun."

is to us less pleasing. There are specimens,
however, of such vigour and emphasis scat-
tered through his whole works, as are sure
to make themselves and their author remem-
bered; 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,

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His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas!"-Vol. iii. p. 27. The whole song of "For a' that," is written with extraordinary spirit. The first stanza ends

"For rank is but the guinea stamp;

The man's the goud, for a' that."

-All the songs, indeed, abound with traits of this kind. We select the following at random: "O woman, lovely woman, fair!

An angel form's faun to thy share; 'Twad been o'er meikle to've gi'en thee mair, 1 mean an angel mind."-Vol. iv. p. 330.

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

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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, [fume; Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perFar dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue bell and gowan lurk lowly un

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however, that unless it be taken in connection with his other works, the present volume has little interest, and could not be made the subject of any intelligible observations. made up of some additional letters, of middling merit-of complete copies of others, of which Dr. Currie saw reason to publish only extracts of a number of remarks, by Burns, on old Scottish songs-and, finally, of a few additional poems and songs, certainly not disgraceful to the author, but scarcely fitted to add to his reputation. The world, however, is indebted, we think, to Mr. Cromek's industry for this addition to so popular an author;-and the friends of the poet, we are sure, are indebted to his good taste, moderation, and delicacy, for having confined it to the pieces which are now printed. Burns wrote many rash-many violent, and many indecent things; of which we have no doubt many specimens must have fallen into the hands of so diligent a collector. He has, however, carefully suppressed every thing of this description; and shown that tenderness for his author's memory, which is the best proof of the veneration with which he regards his talents. We shall now see if there be any thing in the volume which deserves to be particularly noticed.

The Preface is very amiable, and well written. Mr. Cromek speaks with becoming respect and affection of Dr. Currie, the learned biographer and first editor of the poet, and with great modesty of his own qualifications.

"As an apology (he says) for any defects of my own that may appear in this publication, I beg to observe that I am by profession an artist, and not an author. In the manner of laying them before the public, I honestly declare that I have done my best; and I trust I may fairly presume to hope, that the man who has contribted to extend the bounds of literature, by adding another genuine volume to the writings of Robert Burns, has some claim on the gratitude of his countrymen. On this occasion, I certainly feel something of that sublime and heart-swelling gratification, which he experi ences who casts another stone on the CAIRN of a great and lamented chief."-Preface, pp. xi. xii.

Of the Letters, which occupy nearly half the volume, we cannot, on the whole, express any more favourable opinion than that which we have already ventured to pronounce on the prose compositions of this author in general. Indeed they abound, rather more than those formerly published, in ravings about sensibility and imprudence-in common swearing. and in professions of love for whisky. By far the best, are those which are addressed to Miss Chalmers; and that chiefly because they seem to be written with less effort, and at the same time with more respect for his correspondent. The following was written at a most critical period of his life; and the good feelings and good sense which it displays, only make us regret more deeply that they were not attended with greater firmness.

If we have been able to inspire our readers with any portion of our own admiration for this extraordinary writer, they will readily forgive us for the irregularity of which we have been guilty, in introducing so long an account of his whole works, under colour of married my Jean." This was not in consequence "Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, 1 the additional volume of which we have pre-of the attachment of romance perhaps; but I had a fixed the title to this article. The truth is, long and much lov'd fellow-creature's happiness or

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misery in my determination, and I durst not trifle | refined and accomplished Woman was a being alwith so important a deposite. Nor have I any most new to him, and of which he had formed but cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, a very inadequate idea."-Vol. v. pp. 68, 69. modish manners, and fashionable dress, I am not Bickened and disgusted with the multiform curse He adds also, in another place, that “the of boarding-school affectation; and I have got the poet, when questioned about his habits of handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the sound- composition, replied,-'All my poetry is the est constitution, and the kindest heart in the county! effect of easy composition, but of laborious Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her creed, that I correction.' It is pleasing to know those am le plus bel esprit, et le plus honnête homme in the universe; although she scarcely ever in her life, things-even if they were really as trifling as except the Scriptures of the Old and New Testa- to a superficial observer they may probably ment, and the Psalms of David in metre, spent five appear. There is a very amiable letter from minutes together on either prose or verse.-I must Mr. Murdoch, the poet's early preceptor, at except also from this last, a certain late publication of Scots Poems, which she has perused very de- P. 111; and a very splendid one from Mr. voutly, and all the ballads in the country, as she has Bloomfield, at p. 135. As nothing is more (O the partial lover! you will cry) the finest wood-rare, among the minor poets, than a candid note wild" I ever heard.-I am the more particular acknowledgment of their own inferiority, we in this lady's character, as I know she will henceforth think Mr. Bloomfield well entitled to have his have the honour of a share in your best wishes. magnanimity recorded. She is still at Mauchline, as I am building my house for this hovel that I shelter in while occa"The illustrious soul that has left amongst us the sionally here, is pervious to every blast that blows, name of Burns, has often been lowered down to a and every shower that falls; and I am only pre-comparison with me; but the comparison exists served from being chilled to death, by being suffocated with smoke. I do not find my farm that pennyworth I was taught to expect; but I believe, in time, it may be a saving bargain. You will be pleased to hear that I have laid aside idle éclat, and bind every day after my reapers.

To save me from that horrid situation of at any time going down, in a losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I have taken my excise instructions, and have my commission in my pocket for any emergency of fortune! If I could set all before your view, whatever disrespect you, in common with the world, have for this business, I know you would approve of my idea."-Vol. v. pp. 74, 75.

more in circumstances than in essentials. That man stood up with the stamp of superior intellect on his brow; a visible greatness: and great and patriotic subjects would only have called into action the powers of his mind, which lay inactive while he played calmly and exquisitely the pastoral pipe. face to the Rural Tales,' were friendly warnings, The letters to which I have alluded in my prepointed with immediate reference to the fate of that extraordinary man. Remember Burns,' has been the watchword of my friends. I do remember Burns; but I am not Burns! I have neither his fire to fan, or to quench; nor his passions to control! Where then is my merit, if I make a peaceful voyage on a smooth sea, and with no mutiny on

We may add the following for the sake of board?"-Vol. v. pp. 135, 136.

connection.

"I know not how the word exciseman, or still more opprobrious, gauger, will sound in your ears. I too have seen the day when my auditory nerves would have felt very delicately on this subject; but a wife and children are things which have a wonderful power in blunting these kind of sensations. Fifty pounds a year for life, and a provision for widows and orphans, you will allow, is no bad settlement for a poet. For the ignominy of the pro. fession, I have the encouragement which I once heard a recruiting serjeant give to a numerous, if not a respectable audience, in the streets of Kilmarnock-Gentlemen, for your further and better encouragement. I can assure you that our regiment is the most blackguard corps under the crown, and consequently with us an honest fellow has the surest chance of preferment.'"-Vol. v. pp. 99, 100.

It would have been as well if Mr. Cromek had left out the history of Mr. Hamilton's dissensions with his parish minister,-Burns' apology to a gentleman with whom he had a drunken squabble,-and the anecdote of his being used to ask for more liquor, when visiting in the country, under the pretext of fortifying himself against the terrors of a little wood he had to pass through in going home. The most interesting passages, indeed, in this part of the volume, are those for which we are indebted to Mr. Cromek himself. He informs us, for instance, in a note,

"One of Burns' remarks, when he first came to Edinburgh, was, that between the Men of rustic life, and the polite world. he observed little difference that in the former, though unpolished by fashion, and unenlightened by science, he had found much observatior and much intelligence ;-but a

The observations on Scottish songs, which fill nearly one hundred and fifty pages, are, on the whole, minute and trifling; though the exquisite justness of the poet's taste, and his fine relish of simplicity in this species of composition, is no less remarkable here than in his correspondence with Mr. Thomson. Of all other kinds of poetry, he was so indulgent a judge, that he may almost be termed an indiscriminate admirer. We find, too, from these observations, that several songs and pieces of songs, which he printed as genuine antiques, were really of his own composition.

The commonplace book, from which Dr. Currie had formerly selected all that he thought worth publication, is next given entire by Mr. Cromek. We were quite as well, we think, with the extracts;-at all events, there was no need for reprinting what had been given by Dr. Currie ; a remark which is equally applicable to the letters of which we had formerly extracts.

Of the additional poems which form the concluding part of the volume, we have but little to say. We have little doubt of their authenticity; for, though the editor has omitted, in almost every instance, to specify the source from which they were derived, they certainly bear the stamp of the author's manner and genius. They are not, however, of his purest metal, nor marked with his finest die: several of them have appeared in print already; and the songs are, as usual, the best. This little lamentation of a desolate damsel, is tender and pretty.

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and the benefits of those generous and u manising pursuits, are by no means confined to those whom leisure and affluence have courted to their enjoyment. That much of this is peculiar to Scotland, and may be properly referred to our excellent institutions for parochial education, and to the natural sobriety and prudence of our nation, may certainly be allowed: but we have no doubt that there is a good deal of the same principle in England, and that the actual intelligence of the lower orders will be found, there also, very far to exceed the ordinary estimates of their supe

of rational enjoyment are so widely disseminated; and in a free country, it is comfortable to think, that so great a proportion of the people is able to appreciate the advantages of its condition, and fit to be relied on, in all emergencies where steadiness and intelligence may be required.

We now reluctantly dismiss this subject.riors. It is pleasing to know, that the sources We scarcely hoped, when we began our critical labours, that an opportunity would ever occur of speaking of Burns as we wished to speak of him; and therefore, we feel grateful to Mr. Cromek for giving us this opportunity. As we have no means of knowing, with precision, to what extent his writings are known and admired in the southern part of the kingdom, we have perhaps fallen into the error of quoting passages that are familiar to most of our readers, and dealing out praise which every one of them had previously awarded. We felt it impossible, however, to resist the temptation of transcribing a few of the passages which struck us the most, on turning over the volumes; and reckon with confidence on the gratitude of those to whom they are new, while we are not without hopes of being forgiven by those who have been used to admire them.

Our other remark is of a more limited application; and is addressed chiefly to the followers and patrons of that new school of poetry, against which we have thought it our duty to neglect no opportunity of testifying. Those gentlemen are outrageous for simplicity; and we beg leave to recommend to them the simplicity of Burns. He has copied the spoken language of passion and affection, with infinitely more fidelity than they have ever done, on all occasions which properly admitted of such adaptation: But he has not rejected the helps of elevated language and habitual We shall conclude with two general re-associations; nor debased his composition by marks the one national, the other critical.—an affectation of babyish interjections, and The first is, that it is impossible to read the all the puling expletives of an old nurseryproductions of Burns, along with his history, without forming a higher idea of the intelligence, taste, and accomplishments of our peasantry, than most of those in the higher ranks are disposed to entertain. Without meaning to deny that he himself was endowed with rare and extraordinary gifts of genius and fancy, it is evident, from the whole details of his history, as well as from the letters of his brother, and the testimony of Mr. Murdoch and others, to the character of his father, that the whole family, and many of their associates, who never emerged from the native obscurity of their condition, possessed talents, and taste, and intelligence, which are little suspected to lurk in those humble retreats. His epistles to brother poets, in the rank of small farmers and shopkeepers in the adjoining villages,-the existence of a book-not be reclaimed from their puny affectations society and debating-club among persons of that description, and many other incidental traits in his sketches of his youthful companions, all contribute to show, that not only good sense, and enlightened morality, but literature, and talents for speculation, are far more generally diffused in society than is commonly imagined; and that the delights

maid's vocabulary. They may look long enough among his nervous and manly lines, before they find any "Good lacks !"-"Dear hearts!" or "As a body may says," in them; or any stuff about dancing daffodils and sister Emmelines. Let them think, with what infinite contempt the powerful mind of Burns would have perused the story of Alice Fell and her duffle cloak,-of Andrew Jones and the half-crown,-or of Little Dan without breeches, and his thievish grandfather. Let them contrast their own fantastical personages of hysterical school-masters and sententious leechgatherers, with the authentic rustics of Burns's Cotters' Saturday Night, and his inimitable songs; and reflect on the different reception which those personifications have met with from the public. Though they will

by the example of their learned predecessors, they may, perhaps, submit to be admonished by a self-taught and illiterate poet, who drew from Nature far more directly than they can do, and produced something so much liker the admired copies of the masters whom they have abjured.

(April, 1809.)

Gertrude of Wyomir.g, a Pennsylvanian Tale; and other Poems. By THOMAS CAMPBELL, author of "The Pleasures of Hope," &c. 4to. pp. 136. London: Longman & Co.: 1809.

WE rejoice once more to see a polished and pathetic poem-in the old style of English pathos and poetry. This is of the pitch of the Castle of Indolence, and the finer parts of Spenser; with more feeling, in many places, than the first, and more condensation and diligent finishing than the latter. If the true tone of nature be not everywhere maintained, it gives place, at least, to art only, and not to affectation-and, least of all, to affectation of singularity or rudeness.

admiration of tittering parties, and of which even the busy must turn aside to catch a transient glance: But "the haunted stream" steals through a still and a solitary landscape; and its beauties are never revealed, but to him who strays, in calm contemplation, by its course, and follows its wanderings with undistracted and unimpatient admiration. There is a reason, too, for all this, which may be made more plain than by metaphors.

The highest delight which poetry produces, Beautiful as the greater part of this volume does not arise from the mere passive percep is, the public taste, we are afraid, has of late tion of the images or sentiments which it prebeen too much accustomed to beauties of a sents to the mind; but from the excitement more obtrusive and glaring kind, to be fully which is given to its own internal activity, sensible of its merit. Without supposing that and the character which is impressed on the this taste has been in any great degree vitiated, train of its spontaneous conceptions. Even or even imposed upon, by the babyism or the the dullest reader generally sees more than antiquarianism which have lately been versi-is directly presented to him by the poet; but fied for its improvement, we may be allowed to suspect, that it has been somewhat dazzled by the splendour, and bustle and variety of the most popular of our recent poems; and that the more modest colouring of truth and nature may, at this moment, seem somewhat cold and feeble. We have endeavoured, on former occasions, to do justice to the force and originality of some of those brilliant productions, as well as to the genius (fitted for much higher things) of their authors and have little doubt of being soon called upon for a renewed tribute of applause. But we cannot help saying, in the mean time, that the work before us belongs to a class which comes nearer to our conception of pure and perfect poetry. Such productions do not, indeed, strike so strong a blow as the vehement effusions of our modern Trouveurs; but they are calculated, we think, to please more deeply, and to call out more permanently, those trains of emotion, in which the delight of poetry will probably be found to consist. They may not be so loudly nor so universally applauded; but their fame will probably endure longer, and they will be oftener recalled to mingle with the reveries of solitary leisure, or the consolations of real

sorrow.

There is a sort of poetry, no doubt, as there is a sort of flowers, which can bear the broad sun and the ruffling winds of the world, which thrive under the hands and eyes of indiscriminating multitudes, and please as much in hot and crowded saloons, as in their own sheltered repositories; but the finer and the purer sorts blossom only in the shade; and never give out their sweets but to those who seek them amid the quiet and seclusion of the scenes which gave them birth. There are torrents and cascades which attract the

a lover of poetry always sees infinitely more; and is often indebted to his author for little more than an impulse, or the key-note of a melody which his fancy makes out for itself. Thus, the effect of poetry, depends more on the fruitfulness of the impressions to which it gives rise, than on their own individual force or novelty; and the writers who possess the greatest powers of fascination, are not those who present us with the greatest number of lively images or lofty sentiments, but who most successfully impart their own impulse to the current of our thoughts and feelings, and give the colour of their brighter concep tions to those which they excite in their readers. Now, upon a little consideration, it will probably appear, that the dazzling, and the busy and marvellous scenes which constitute the whole charm of some poems, are not so well calculated to produce this effect, as those more intelligible delineations which are borrowed from ordinary life, and coloured from familiar affections. The object is, to awaken in our minds a train of kindred emotions, and to excite our imaginations to work out for themselves a tissue of pleasing or impressive conceptions. But it seems obvious, that this is more likely to be accomplished by surrounding us gradually with those objects, and involving us in those situations with which we have long been accustomed to associate the feelings of the poet,-than by startling us with some tale of wonder, or attempting to engage our affections for personages, of whose character and condition we are unable to form any distinct conception. These, indeed, are more sure than the other to produce a momentary sensation, by the novelty and exaggeration with which they are commonly attended; but their power is spent at the first impulse: they do not strike

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