Six Centuries of English Poetry Part 17

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

ROBERT BURNS was born in Ayrs.h.i.+re, Scotland, in 1759. His childhood and youth were spent in poverty on his father's farm, where he learned to plough, reap, mow, and thresh in the barn, but where opportunities for education were such only as Scottish peasants know. In 1784 his father died, and he attempted to manage a farm of his own at Mossgiel. The experiment proving to be a failure, he resolved to leave Scotland, and secured an appointment to a clerks.h.i.+p in Jamaica. Just before the time set for his departure, he learned of the success of a volume of his poems which had just been published at Kilmarnock; and, instead of departing for the West Indies, he made a visit to Edinburgh. He was welcomed by the best society, and received at once into the literary circles of the Scottish capital. "His name and fame flashed like suns.h.i.+ne over the land: the shepherd on the hill, the maiden at her wheel, learned his songs by heart, and the first scholars of Scotland courted his acquaintance." A second edition of his poems was published in 1787, and with the proceeds--about $2500--he took a farm at Ellisland, in Nithsdale. But his habits were such that he made sad failure a second time in the experiment of farming; and, after two years of mismanagement, to eke out his scanty income he accepted an appointment as exciseman. In 1791, "unfortunately both for his health and for his reputation," he removed to Dumfries, where, five years later, he died.

"While the Shakespeares and Miltons roll on like mighty rivers through the country of Thought, bearing fleets of traffickers and a.s.siduous pearl-fishers on their waves, this little Valclusa Fountain will also arrest our eye; for this also is of Nature's own and most cunning workmans.h.i.+p, bursts from the depths of the earth, with a full gus.h.i.+ng current, into the light of day; and often will the traveller turn aside to drink of its clear waters, and muse among its rocks and pines."--_Carlyle._

"Burns is not the poet's poet, which Sh.e.l.ley no doubt meant to be, or the philosopher's poet, which Wordsworth, in spite of himself, is. He is the poet of homely human nature, not half so homely or prosaic as it seems. His genius, in a manner all its own, a.s.sociates itself with the fortunes, experiences, memorable moments, of human beings whose humanity is their sole patrimony; to whom 'liberty and whatever, like liberty, has the power

To raise a man above the brute, And mak him ken himsel,'

is their portion in life; for whom the great epochs and never-to-be-forgotten phases of existence are those which are occasioned by emotions inseparable from the consciousness of existence. For the great majority of his readers, and therefore for the ma.s.s of human beings, the sympathy which exists between him and them is sympathy relative to their strongest and deepest feelings, and this is sympathy out of which personal affection naturally springs, and in the strength of which it cannot but grow strong."--_John Service._

"Burns was not like Shakespeare in the range of his genius, but there is something of the same magnanimity, directness, and unaffected character about him. With but little of Shakespeare's imagination or inventive power, he had the same life of mind; within the narrow circle of personal feeling or domestic incidents, the pulse of his poetry flows as healthily and vigorously. He had an eye to see, a heart to feel,--no more. His pictures of good fellows.h.i.+p, of social life, of quaint humor, are equal to anything; they come up to nature, and they cannot go beyond it."--_Hazlitt._

"His is that language of the heart In which the answering heart would speak, Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, Or the smile light the cheek.

"And his that music to whose tone The common pulse of man keeps time, In cot or castle's mirth or moan, In cold or sunny clime."

--_Fitz-Greene Halleck._

=Other Poems to be Read:= Bannockburn; Auld Lang Syne; Tam O' Shanter; To a Mouse; The Jolly Beggars; Ye Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon; Highland Mary; Address to the Deil; To Mary in Heaven.

REFERENCES: Carlyle's Essay on _Robert Burns_; _Burns_ (English Men of Letters), by J. C. Shairp; Hazlitt's _English Poets_.

William Cowper.

BOADICEA.

When the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel from her country's G.o.ds,

Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, h.o.a.ry chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief.

"Princess! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues.

"Rome shall perish--write that word In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt.

"Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,-- Hark, the Gaul is at her gates!

"Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms,{1} shall win the prize; Harmony the path to fame.

"Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,{2} Shall a wider world command.

"Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew None invincible as they."{3}

Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all the monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow, Rush'd to battle, fought and died; Dying, hurled them{4} at the foe.

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestowed, Shame and ruin wait for you.{5}

NOTES.

Boadicea was queen of the Iceni, a powerful and warlike tribe of Britons, about the middle of the first century. Upon the death of her husband, Prasutagus, her kingdom was seized by the Romans, and she herself, for some real or imaginary offence, was publicly scourged.

During the absence of the Roman governor from that part of England, Boadicea raised an immense army, burned the city of London, and put 70,000 Romans to the sword. She afterwards, with 230,000 troops, met the Roman army, under Suetonius, in the field, and although the Romans could muster only 10,000 soldiers, the British army was defeated, and the queen, in despair, ended her own life by taking poison.

In this poem, Cowper represents the queen as, soon after her shameful treatment by the Romans, seeking counsel from one of the native priests.

The Druid prophesies the destruction of Rome and the future greatness of Britain.

1. =Sounds, not arms.= Does the poet allude to the cultivation of oratory and poetry among the Romans and the neglect of military affairs?

2. =Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings.= What do these expressions mean?

To what do they refer?

3. Explain the prophecy included in this stanza.

4. =hurled them.= Hurled what?

5. This stanza, evidently a part of the imprecation which Boadicea "hurled" at her enemies, ought to be enclosed with quotation marks, but in most versions of the poem it appears without them.

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.

Oh, that those lips had language! Life has pa.s.sed With me but roughly since I heard thee last.

Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"

The meek intelligence of those dear eyes (Blessed be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim To quench it) here s.h.i.+nes on me still the same.

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, O welcome guest, though unexpected here!

Who bidst me honor with an artless song, Affectionate, a mother lost so long, I will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own: And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep{1} me in Elysian reverie,{2} A momentary dream that thou art she.

My mother! when I learnt{3} that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?

Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?

Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.

Ah! that maternal smile! It answers--Yes.

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hea.r.s.e that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!

But was it such?--It was.--Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.

May I but meet thee on that peaceful sh.o.r.e, The parting word shall pa.s.s my lips no more!

The maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,{4} Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.

What ardently I wished I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived.