Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, or hot to rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear.
Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals, the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by, But with a frater-feeling strong, Here heave a sigh.
Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs himself life’s mad career, Wild as the wave; Here pause, and through the starting tear, Survey this grave.
The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame, But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stained his name.
Reader, attend, whether thy soul Soars fancy’s flights beyond the pole, Or darkly grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit, Know prudent, cautious, self-control Is wisdom’s root.
Thus much I thought I might venture on our poet’s life; I shall now proceed to offer some remarks upon his genius.
Burns was a true child of nature; thence his growing power, and thence the promise of his lasting fame. But though the child of nature, he was not the offspring of mere rude or uncultivated nature. The Scottish peasantry were a class of men among whom such a mind as that of Burns could perhaps receive its most fitting development. Without the refinement which tends to repress spontaneous expression, they had sufficient of moral and intellectual education to give that expression variety and strength. Their country, their history, and their religion, were all such as to train a serious and reflective imagination. Therefore it is that no peasantry have furnished so much to national literature as the Scottish, and especially to national poetry. Within a period by no means extensive in their annals, they have given to the world such writers as Ferguson, simple and full of music; Allan Ramsay, in his “Gentle Shepherd,” the very genius of pastoral poetry; Tannahill, a lowly spirit of melody and pathos, a sweet voice of truth and tenderness; Hogg, the glorious wizard of the mountains, coming down from his shepherd’s wilderness, his memory peopled with all olden legends, and his fancy teeming with all fairy dreams. Burns, then, though mightiest, is but one of an honorable family; though greatest and grandest among them, they are his kindred; of some he is the heir, of others, he is the progenitor.