Whose light I hailed when first it shone,
And showed my youth

How Verse may build a princely throne
On humble truth.

Alas! where'er the current tends,
Regret pursues and with it blends, —
Huge Criffel's hoary top ascends
By Skiddaw seen,—

Neighbors we were, and loving friends
We might have been ;

True friends, though diversely inclined; But heart with heart and mind with mind, Where the main fibres are entwined,

Through Nature's skill,

May even by contraries be joined
More closely still.

The tear will start, and let it flow;
Thou "poor Inhabitant below,"

What treasures would have then been placed Within my reach; of knowledge graced

By fancy what a rich repast!

But why go on?

Oh!

spare

to sweep,

thou mournful blast,

His grave grass-grown.

There, too, a Son, his joy and pride,

(Not three weeks past the Stripling died,)
Lies gathered to his Father's side,
Soul-moving sight!

Yet one to which is not denied
Some sad delight.

For he is safe, a quiet bed

Hath early found among the dead,
Harbored where none can be misled,
Wronged, or distrest;

And surely here it may be said
That such are blest.

And oh! for Thee, by pitying grace
Checked ofttimes in a devious race,
May He who halloweth the place
Where Man is laid

Receive thy Spirit in the embrace
For which it prayed!

Sighing, I turned away; but ere

Night fell I heard, or seemed to hear,
Music that sorrow comes not near,
A ritual hymn,

Chanted in love that casts out fear
By Seraphim.

III.

THOUGHTS

SUGGESTED THE DAY FOLLOWING, ON THE BANKS OF NITH, NEAR THE POET'S RESIDENCE.

Too frail to keep the lofty vow

That must have followed when his brow

Was wreathed - "The Vision" tells us how

With holly spray,

He faltered, drifted to and fro,
And passed away.

Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throng
Our minds when, lingering all too long,
Over the grave of Burns we hung
In social grief,-

Indulged as if it were a wrong
To seek relief.

But, leaving each unquiet theme
Where gentlest judgments may misdeem,
And prompt to welcome every gleam
Of good and fair,

Let us beside this limpid Stream
Breathe hopeful air.

Enough of sorrow, wreck, and blight;
Think rather of those moments bright,
When to the consciousness of right

His course was true,

When Wisdom prospered in his sight
And Virtue grew.

Yes, freely let our hearts expand,
Freely as in youth's season bland,
When, side by side, his Book in hand,
We wont to stray,

Our pleasure varying at command
Of each sweet Lay.

How oft inspired must he have trod These pathways, yon far-stretching road! There lurks his home; in that Abode, With mirth elate,

Or in his nobly pensive mood,

The Rustic sate.

Proud thoughts that Image overawes,
Before it humbly let us pause,
And ask of Nature, from what cause
And by what rules

She trained her Burns to win applause
That shames the Schools.

Through busiest street and loneliest glen Are felt the flashes of his pen;

Hé rules 'mid winter snows, and when Bees fill their hives;

Deep in the general heart of men

What need of fields in some far clime
Where Heroes, Sages, Bards sublime,
And all that fetched the flowing rhyme
From genuine springs,

Shall dwell together till old Time
Folds up his wings?

Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven
This Minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;
The rueful conflict, the heart riven
With vain endeavor,

And memory of Earth's bitter leaven,
Effaced for ever.

But why to Him confine the prayer,
When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear
On the frail heart the purest share

The best of what we do and are,

Just God, forgive! *

* See note.