Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1840-07-31

But neither Burns nor his Mary were doomed
to "cross the Atlantic's roar" nor to realize
those dreams Of mutual bliss which passion or
enthusiasm had engcndcred in their youthful
imaginations. Burns was called to Edinburgh,
there to commence his career of fame, which
was to terminate in chill poverty, drcary disap-
pontment and dark despar--while Mary's hap
pier lot, after transient CLEAN of the sunshine
of life, was to be removed to a better and hap
pier world. Her death shed a sadness over her
whole future life, and spirit of subdued grief
| and tenderness was displayed whenever she was
the subject of his conversation or writings
aye banks an bracs an streams around
The castle of Montgomerie,
Green be your woods. and fair your flowers,
fonr waters never drumlic;
There simmer first unfaulds her robes,
An there they Largest tarry,
For there took the last farewell
o my sweet Holland Mary"
In note appended to this song Burns says
"This was composition of mine in early life,
before was known at all to the world. My
Highland asse was warm hearted charming
young creature as ever blessed man with gencr-
Gus love. After pretty long trial of the most
ardent reciprocal affection, we met By appoint
ment on the second Sunday of May, in a scques-
tered spot on the banks Of the Ayr, where we
spent day in taking a farewell before she would
embark for the West Highlands to arrange mat
tiers among her friends for our projected change
of life. AT the close of the autumn following,
she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock,
where she was seized with malignant fever,
which hurried my dear girl to her grave in few
days, before | could even hear of her Illness"
twas at this romantic and interesting meet
ing on the banks of the Ayr, that the Bibles
before us were presented to Mary and he must
have heart of stone, indeed, who can gaze on
them without his Imagination calling up within
his bosom feelings too big for utterance. On
!,,dt spot. they exchanged Bibles, and plighted
their faith to each other the steam dividing them,
)and the sacred book graspcd by both over its
purllng waters. This was the only token of
affection each had to give the other. and the
wealth of the Indies could not have procured
better or more appropriate one.
In Lockhart's life Of Burns we are informed
that several years after the death of Mary,on the
anniversary of the day which brought him the
snournful intelligence, he appeared, as the twi-
light advanced, Gin the language of his widow
every sad about something's" and though the
evening was cold and keen one in September.
ne wandered into his barnyard, from which the
entreaics of his wife could not, for some time,
recall him. To these entreaties he always
promised obedience but these promises were
were but the lip kindness of affection,
no sooner made than forgotten, for his
)eye was fixed on heaven, and his unceasing
stride indicated that his heart was also there
Mrs. Burns last approach to the barn yard found
him stretched on mass of straw, looking alb
stractly on planet which, in clear starry sky,
"shone like another moon," and having pre-
vailed on him to return into the house, instantly
wrote, as they still stand, the following sublime
verses, which have thrilled through many eyes,
and which will live the noblest of the lyrics of
Burns, while submty and pathos have re.
spending charm in the hearts of Sco,smen
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou lin gerng star, with lesscning ray,
That loves to greet the early MORN
AGAIN thou ushcrcst in the day
My Mary nom my soul was torn
o Mary, dear, departed shade!
Where is thy place of bllssfiIl rest7
Secst hou thy lover lowy laid
Hear st thou the groans that rend his breast!
That sacred hour can forget,
Can forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met
To live one day of parting love
Eternity will no, etiace
Those records dear of TRANSPORT mist
Thy image at our last embrace
All little thought we twas our last!
=. Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
Ocrhung with wild woods, thick mig green:
The fragran, birch and hawthorn hoar,
TwInod an'rous round the raptured scene
The flowers sprang wanton TO be prest
The birds sang love on every spray
I'LL SOON too soon the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed Of winged day.
stu Ger these scenes my memory wakes.
And fond'y broods with miscr care;
Time but the Impression deeper makes,
As streams their channel deeper wear
My Mary, dear, departed shade
- Where is thy bssful place of rest?
Secst thou thy lover lowly laid
Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast?