The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware advertiser., 1827-01-25

A nations glory, and her shame,
In silent sadness up.
A nations glory-be the rest
Forgot-she's cannoni-ed his mind.
And it is joy to speak the best
We may of human kind.
I've stood beside the cottage bed
Where the lsard-peasant first drew breath
straw thatched roof above his head,
A straw-wrought couch beneath
And have stood beside the pile,
His monu,nent-that tells to Heaven
The homage of earth's proudest isle
To that Bard peasant given
Bid thy thoughts hover oer that spot,
Boy Minstrel, in thy dreaming hour
And know, however, low his lot,
APoet's pride and power.
The pride that lifted Burns from earth,
The power that gave child OF song
Ascendancy o'errank and birth,
The rich, the brave, the strongi
And if despondcncy weigh down
Thy spirits luttering pinons then,
Despair-thy name is written OH
There have been lofter themes than his,
And longer scrolls, and louder Tyres,
And laysl ait up with Poesy's
Purer and holer fires.
Yet read the names that know not DEATH
Few nober ones than Burns are there,
And few have wona greencr wreath
Than that which binds lis hair.
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 castles mrth or moan,
In cold or sunny cline.
And who hath heard his song, nor knelt
Before its spell with willing knee,
Aud listened, and believed, and felt
The Poets mastery.
o'er the minds sea, in calm and storm,
O'erthe hearts sunshine, and its showers,
O'er PASSIONS moments, bright and warm,
Der Reasons dark, cold hours;
On fields where brave men ode or do,
In halls where ring the banquet's mirth,
Where mourners weep, where lovers WOO.
From throne to cottage hearth
What sweet tears dim the eyes nnshed,
What wild VOWS faltcr on the tongue.
When "Scotts wha hae wi Wallace bled,"
Or "Auld lang Syne" is sung.
Pure hopes, that lift the soul above,
Come with his Cotter's hymn Of praise,
And dreams of youth, and love,
With "Logan's" banks and braes.
And when lie breathed hs master-lay
Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall,
All passions in our frames Of clay
Come thronging at his call,
Imaginaton's world OF air,
And our own world, its gloom and glees
Wit, pathos, poetry, are there,
And deaths sublimity,
And Burns-though brief the race he ran,
Though rough and dark the path he trod,
Lived-tlied--in form and soul Man,
The image of his God
Through care, and pain, and want, and woe,
With wounds that only death could heal,
Tortures-thc poor alone could KNOW,
The proud alone can feei'
lie kept his honesty and truth,
His independent tongue and pen,
And moved, in manhood and YOUTH
Pride of his fellow men.
Strong sense, deep feeling, passions strong,
A hate of tyrant and of knave,
A love Of right, scorn Of wrong,
Of coward and Of slave;
A kind, true heart, spirit high,
That could not fear, that would not bow,
Were written in his manly eye,
And on his manly brow
Praise to the bard!--his words are driven,
Like flower-seeds BY the fair winds sown
Where 'er beneath the sky ofheaYen,
The birds of fame have flown.
Praise TO the man! nation stood
Beside his coffin with wet eyes,
Her brave, her beautiful. her good.
As when loved one dies.