Though but in distant prospect, and not feel
His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy?
Rivers of gladness water all the earth,

And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach
Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field
Laughs with abundance, and the land, once lean,
Or fertile only in its own disgrace,
Exults to see its thistly curse repealed,
The various seasons woven into one,
And that one season an eternal spring,
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence,
For there is none to covet, all are full.
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear,
Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon
Together, or all gambol in the shade

Of the same grove, and drink one common stream:
Antipathies are none. No foe to man

Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees,
And smiles to see her infant's playful hand
Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm,
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue.
All creatures worship man, and all mankind
One Lord, one Father. Error has no place;
That creeping pestilence is driven away;
The breath of heaven has chased it.
No passion touches a discordant string;
But all is harmony and love. Disease
Is not the pure and uncontaminated blood
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age.
One song employs all nations: and all cry,

In the heart

Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise filled; See Salem built, the labour of a God! Bright as a sun the sacred city shines All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, And endless her increase. Thy rams are there,

;

Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar1 there:
The looms of Ormus and the mines of Ind,
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there.
Praise is in all her gates, upon her walls
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts,
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there
Kneels with the native of the farthest west;
And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand,
And worships. Her report has travelled forth
Into all lands; from every clime they come
To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy,
O Sion! an assembly such as earth

Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see.

BURNS.

PRINCIPAL EVENTS OF HIS LIFE.-Robert Burns was born January 25th, 1759, in a clay-built cottage, raised by his father's own hands, on the banks of the Doon, in the district of Kyle, Ayrshire. At the age of six he was sent to school, and appears to have been a diligent little student. At an early age he assisted his father in his farming business, continuing his education at intervals. When about twenty, he composed several of the poems which afterwards distinguished his name. After various domestic trials, when on the point of leaving England for Jamaica, where he had got a situation, the publication of his poems awakened so much interest in their author, that he abandoned his purpose, and after an unsuccessful experiment in farming, obtained an appointment in the Excise. He died at Dumfries, in the year 1796.

PRINCIPAL WORKS.-Amongst many brief, but beautiful poems, it is difficult to particularize the principal; but perhaps those entitled "Tam o' Shanter,” “The Cotter's Saturday Night," "To a Mountain Daisy," "The Twa Dogs," "To Mary in Heaven," may be designated the best.

(1) "Nebaioth and Kedar-the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of the Arabs, in the prophetic Scriptures here alluded to [see Isaiah Ix., throughout] may be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large."

CHARACTERISTIC SPIRIT AND STYLE.-"The excellence of Burns is indeed among the rarest, whether in poetry or prose; but at the same time, it is plain and easily recognised—it is his sincerity— his indisputable air of truth. Here are no fabulous woes or joys; no hollow fantastic sentimentalities; no wiredrawn refinings, either in thought or feeling; the passion that is traced before us has glowed in a living heart; the opinion he utters has risen in his own understanding, and been a light to his own steps. He does not write from heresay, but from sight and experience; they are the scenes that he has lived and laboured amongst that he describes; those scenes, rude and humble as they are, have kindled beautiful emotions in his soul-noble thoughts and definite resolves—and he speaks forth what is in him, not from any outward call of vanity or interest, but because his heart is too full to be silent. He speaks it too with such modulation as he can, and though but in homely rustic jingle, it is his own, and genuine. This is the grand secret for finding readers and retaining them: let him who would move and convince others be first moved and convinced himself. But, independently of this essential gift of true poetic feeling, there is a certain rugged, sterling worth pervades whatever Burns has written. A virtue, as of green fields and mountain breezes, dwells in his poetry— it is redolent of natural life, and of hardy, natural men. There is a decisive strength in him, and yet frequently a sweet native gracefulness. He is tender, and he is vehement; yet without constraint or visible effort. He melts the heart, or inflames it with a power which seems habitual and familiar to him. He has a consonance in his bosom for every note of human feeling; the high and the low-the sad and the ludicrous-the mournful and the joyful are welcome in their turns, to his all-conceiving spirit. And then, with what a prompt and eager force he grasps his subject, be it what it may! How he fixes, as it were, the full image of the matter in his eye, full and clear in every lineament, and catches the real type and essence of it, among a thousand incidents and superficial circumstances-no one of which misleads him! No poet, of any age or nation, is more graphic than Burns. The characteristic features disclose themselves to him at a glance. Three lines from his hand and we have a likeness!" I

(1) Thomas Carlyle. "Miscellanies,” vol. i.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.1

NOVEMBER chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;2
The shortening winter-day is near a close;
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The blackening trains o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,
This night his weekly moil is at an end,
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes,
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,

And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

The expectant wee-things, toddlin', stachers thro'
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin'4 noise an' glee.
His wee bit ingle,5 blinkin' bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,

An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil.
Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in,
At service out amang the farmers roun';
Some ca'7 the pleugh, some herd, some tenties rin,
A cannie errand to a neebor town:

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown,
Or deposite her sair-worn penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

(1) "The Cotter's Saturday Night' is tender and moral, solemn and devotional, and rises at length into a strain of grandeur and sublimity which modern poetry has not surpassed. The noble sentiments of patriotism with which it concludes, correspond with the rest of the poem. In no age or country have the pastoral muses breathed such elevated accents, if the Messiah' of Pope be excepted, which is indeed a pastoral in form only."-Dr. Corrie.

"The Cotter, in the Saturday Night,' is an exact copy of my father in his manners, his family devotion, and exhortations; yet the other parts of the description do not apply to our family. None of us were ever at service out amang the farmers round.' "—Gilbert Burns (brother of the author).

(2) Sugh-whistling sound. (3) Stacher-stagger. (4) Flichterin'-fluttering. (5) Wee bit ingle-little fire or fire-place. (6) Belyve-by-and-by. (7) Ca'-. drive. (8) Tentie-carefully, heedfully.

Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for others' weelfare kindly spiers ;1
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the uncos2 that he sees or hears:
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view.
The mithier, wi' her needle an' her shears,

Gars3 auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ;—
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's an' their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warnéd to obey;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydents hand,
An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk5 or play;
'An' O! be sure to fear the Lord alway!

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,
Implore His counsel, an' assisting might;
They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright!

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door:
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;
Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins6 is afraid to speak;

Weel pleased the mother hear it's nae wild worthless rake.

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ;7

A strappan youth: he taks the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en;

The father cracks o' horses, pleughs, and kye.8 The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate and laithfu',9 scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy,

What maks the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave.10

(2) Uncos-uncommon things, news. (3) Gars(5) Jauk-trifle. (6) Haflins-partly, half. (9) Blate and laithfu-bashful and sheepish.

(1) Spiers-inquires. makes. (4) Eydent-diligent. (7) Ben-in. (8) Kye-cows. (10) The lave-the rest, others.