THE BIRTHDAY OF ROBERT BURNS.

Thames Star, Volume VII, Issue 2514, 26 January 1877, Page 2

THE BIRTHDAY OF ROBERT BURNS.

(To the Editor of the Evening Stab.) " Our monarch's hindinost year but ane Was .five-aud-twenty days begun, , .-■- ---'■■Twas then a blast o' Janwar 1 win' : Blew hansil in on Roljini" Snt t -—This day is the anniversary of the birth cf the Ayrshire Bard. This day one century and eighteen years ago Koberfc Burns was born into this worldushered Into this world of joys and sorrows and laughter and tears. He, himself, has artfully recorded the date of his birth in the above lines. For want of something more profitable to do, I have set me down this morning in my sanctum sanctorum to reflect on the" life and writings of the Poet Burns. But 37 short years intervened between .his cradle and his grave—what might be' termed but half his days—yet in that brief space of time he has immortalised his name; accomplished more in half his time than millions have done during their three score and ten. Poet Burns whose memory is loved and revered—l almost said worshiped—by the unwashed million wherever the Scotch lingo is kent, I think I might almost say wherever the English tongue is spoken in the whole extent of this fair earth of ours, there the ploughman poet is enshrined in their hearts. He lired but half his days. What might he not have accomplished had he been preserved to the extent of. the life of the patriarch, three score and ten. Might not a little more kindness on the part of his countrymen—a little more sympathy for his failings—a little more generosity with Iheir means—a little more fellow-feeling and advice cheered him in his sickness and possibly been the means of enabling him to weather it; but be that as it may, he is gone, and the world for him is done,

as he himself forcibly depicts in the shape of a prophecy—

Now Robin lies in his last lair, He'll gabble rhyme nor sing nae mair; Could poverty wi' hungry stare, Nae mair shall fear him ; Nor anxious fear nor cankest care E'er mair come near him. But lie has left behind him poems and songs that will; last while the English tongue remains; sentiments and ideas imperishable while the sanctimonious hypocrites who often persecuted him are rotten and forgotten, save those he has immortalised in satire—

" O Pope had I thy satire's darts To gie the rascals their deserts I'd rip their rotten hollow hearts And tell aloud Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts To cheat the crowd." Bobby Burns was one pf Nature's noblest sons —of a proud and independent spirit, but generous, open-hearted and outspoken. Had he but possessed a fair share of the wisdom of this world he could have put himself above the possibility of want, and thus probably lengthened his life, as said himself— Had I to quid advice but harket, I might by this hae let a market, Or stoutled in a bank and clerket— , My cash account. I While here,,half-mad, half-fed, half-sarket Is a' the amount. - lam sorry the admirers of the Scotch poet in this community did not think proper to call a meeting for this evening to celebrate the anniversary of his birth, where the pieces selected for recitation or singing should be exclusively his own. What would warm the heart of at least a Scotchman more than the reading of the " Cotter's Saturday Night ? " containing such verses as the following:— O, Scotia! My dear, my native soil, For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent; Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content. And, oh ! May Heaven tUeir simple lives prevent | From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ; Then, however crown and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may raise the while. Or his *' vision," a sample of which is the following :—

My heart did glowing transport feel To see a race heroic wheel, ■: And brandish round the deep-dyed steel In sturdy bWws. , While back-recoiling seemed to reel Their Southern foes. Where is truth more forcibly depicted than in his " man was made to mourn"—

O, man ! While in thy early years, How prodigal of time; Mispending all thy precious hour 3 Thy glorious youthful prime. Alternate follies take the sway; Licentious passions bum; ■ Which tenfold force gives nature's law, ' That man was made to. mourn. Or a better advice contained in the following verse from a " Bard's epitaph "— Reader, attend, whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling gruta this earthly hole : ' In low pursuits. Know prudent, cautious self-control Is wisdom's root. And where could we get more fun or laughter (there is philosophy in a laugh) than in his "Address to the De'il." O then, whatever title suit thee— . Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick or Clootie, Wha in you cavern grim and sootie, Closed under hatches, Spairges about the Crunstane Cootie To scaud poor wretches! &c. And again— But fare you w'eel, Auld Nickie-ben! . Oh, wad ye tak a thought and men'! Ye alblins might—l dinna ken— Still hae a stake— I'm wae to think upo' yon den, , E'en for your sake. . Or from such a glorious piece as " Tarn O'Shanter"— ,'. ' ' As bees flee hanie wi' lades o' treasure^ The minutes wniged their way wi' pleasure: Kings may bo blest, but Tarn was glorious, O'er a'the ills o'life victorious. But pleasures are likt poppies spread, ' You seize the flower, it's bloom is shed, &c, • The wind blew as'twad blawn its last; The rattling showers rose on the blast; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, Loud, deep, and lan? the thunder bellowed: That nijrht a child might understand . \ The De'il had business on his hand. ' * * -v •*■'■ -s- •' * At Winnock-Bimker i 1 the east , . * ' There sat old Nick in shape o'beast, A towsie tyke,- Mack, grim and large,. To gie them music wr.s his charge. ■ He screwed thd pipes and gaii them skirl TH. roof and rafters a'did dirl. This winds up with the moral— : Now, wha t";.!s tale o' truth shall read, Ilk man and mother's son take heed Whane'er to drink you are inclined j Or Cutty S.irks run in your mind, Think! ye may buy the joys ower dear— Eemember Tarn'O'Shaatcr's mare. . I might run on for a week at this rate, but stern necessity says stop. OB3EEVEB.

Shortland, Jan. 25th, 77.