Burns [pp. 249-252]

1841.] Burns. 251
from the world. He recorded the creed of the
true man;
To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justified by honor;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Not for a train-attendant;
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.
His susceptibility to Nature was quick and impassioned. He hung with rapture over the harebell, fox-glove, budding birch and hoary hawthorn.
Though chiefly alive to its sterner aspects, every
phase of the universe was inexpressibly dear to
him.
O Nature! a' thy shows an' forms
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms!
Whether the simmer kindly warms,
Wi' life an' light,
Or winter howls, in gusty storms,
The lang, dark night!
How delightful to see the victim of poverty and
care thus yield up his spirit in blest oblivion of his
lot. He walked beside the river, climbed the hill
and wandered over the moor, with a more exultant
step and more bounding heart than ever conqueror
knew. In his hours of sweet reverie, all consciousness was lost of outward poverty, in the richness of a gifted spirit. Then he looked upon Nature as his heritage. He felt drawn to her by the
glowing bond of a kindred spirit. Every wildflower from which he brushed'the dew, every niountain-top to which his eyes were lifted, every star
that smiled upon his path,-was a token and a
pledge of immortality. He partook of their freedom and their beauty; and held fond communion
with their silent loveliness. The banks of the
Doon became like the bowers of Paradise, and
Mossgiel was as a glorious kingdom.
Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire,
That's a' the learning I desire;
Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire
At pleugh or cart,
My muse, tho' hamely in attire,
May touch the heart.
That complete self-abandonment, characteristic of
poets, belonged strikingly to Burns. He threw
himself, all sensitive and ardent as he was, into the
arms of Nature. He surrendered his heart unreservedly to the glow of social pleasure, and sought
with equal heartiness the peace of domestic retire
ment.
And joys the very best.
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart,
The lover and the frien;
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part,
And I my darling Jean!
He sinned, and repented, with the same singleness
of purpose, and completeness of devotion. This is
illustrated in many of his poems. In his love and
grief, in his joy and despair, we find no medium;
By passion driven;
And yet the light that led astray
Was light from heaven.
Perhaps the freest and deepest element of the
poetry of Burns, is love. With the first awakening of this passion in his youthful breast, came
also the spirit of poetry. "My heart," says one
of his letters, "was complete tinder, and eternally
lighted up by some goddess or other." He was
one of those susceptible men to whom love is no
fiction or fancy; to whom it is not only a "strong
necessity," but an overpowering influence. To
female attractions he was a complete slave. An
eye, a tone, a grasp of the hand, exercised over
him the sway of destiny. His earliest and most
blissful adventures were following in the harvest
with a bonnie lassie, or picking nettles out of a
fair one's hand. He had no armor of philosophy
wherewith to resist the spell of beauty. Genius
betrayed rather than absolved him; and his soul
found its chief delight and richest inspiration in
the luxury of loving.
O happy love! where love like this is found!
O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
I've paced much this weary mortal round,
And sage experience bids me this declare "If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
One cordial in this melancholy vale,
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
In others' arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn, that scents the evening gale."
And yet the love of Burns was-poetical chieflv in
its expression. He loved like a man. His was
no mere sentimental passion, but a hearty attachment. He sighed not over the pride of a Laura,
nor was satisfied with a smile of distant encouragement. Genuine passion was vivified and enlarged in his heart by a poetical mind. He arrayed his rustic charmer with few ideal attractions.
His vows were paid to
A creature not too bright or good
For human natulre's daily food;
For transient sorrows. simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.
But why o' death begin a tale?
Just now we're living sound and hale,
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,
Heave care o'er side!
And large, before enjoyment's gale,
Let's tak the tide.
This life has joys for you and I,
And joys that riches ne'er could buy,
Her positive and tangible graces were enough for
him. He sought not to exalt them, but only to
exhibit the fervor of his attachment. Even in
his love was there this singular honesty. Exaggerated flattery does not mark his amatory poems,
but a warm expression of his passionate regard, a
sweet song over the joys of affection. Perhaps
no poet has better depicted true love, in its most
1841.1
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