Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1854-08-11
Robert Burnss

We take the following from theltTavelling cores
pondence of the Boston Post. It is refreshing, amid
the toilibs and mong OF This working day world, to
turn aside from the strife of politics and the turmoil
of elections 10 lnger, in imagination amid the
scenes which have been consecrated by the footsteps
of genius, and to revive the memories embalmed IN
the immortal verses of the : Peasant Bard who,
with ali his faults and falings, was glorious MAN
for a'that -
We left Glasgow on a charming day to visit Ayr
to have talk with the auld bodies about Robert
Burns whom the people here always call Robin We
went over all the places he wrote scout; crossed the
twa briggs" saw the ale house an ale house snll
where Souter Johnny and the landlady entertained
Tam OShanter so well that he made il altogether too
late before he started for home and his Kate visited
the kirk where he saw the witches who gave HIM
such chase, putting Maggie" to her greatest speed;
and saw the beautiful monument which las been
erected to his memory his favorlte river Doom
the first one that was built having been entirely car
cd off piecemea by visitors, If you can conceive sach
sacrilege. The kirk is ruin, the corners lav-
ing been taken away for memorials, bit by b as tar
up ones could reach. What is left IS careful
ly taken care of, and the tombstone, copy Of that
erected by Burns TO his father and mother, is kept
quite perfect.
We into the cottage where the poet was born.
Humble enough ii then, consisting OF but two
rooms with stone floors, but spacious saloon
Oeen
ale house the other The sister of the poet is still
alive. We passed the neat little cottage where she
lives with her daughters; but did not call, many
visitors do, thinking we had right to take up her
time just out of curiosity. Three sons of Burns are
also livng-one having situation under govern
menl, and the two Others in the army. They are
very proud OF their father, and visit Ayr whenever
they have opportunity.
! Burns monument stands in the midst d a flower
garden, handsomely laid out and finely taken of
The lower portion Of the monument forms quite u
good sized room, in which, in glass case, the
bibles given TO Highland Mary, when Burns parted
from her for the last time, with quotation from
scripture written in both by himself with his name
and masons mark. An oag the mementoes is a lock
of Nlary's hair, Was SO much pleased with all tha
saw, and my recollecions of Burns vivifed
that could not help making up some rhyme which
as T has thought them worth copying, and has
written them off for me, send them for your espe
cial use as memento Of the bard
a VISIT TO THE BANKS OF THE doom
Oh bonny Robin, Robin Burns!
How have my footsteps traced
With sweet sad pleasure, each fair spot
Thy rustic muse hath graced.
I've walked beneath the humble roof
Where thy first breath drawn
Where, midst rude sports and ruder tolls,
Was spent thy life's young morn.
| And that sad relic !oo Ive seen;
! Prize to thy heart dear;
| That single, golden curly lock
Of thy sweet Mary's hair.
I've been across the twa stane bridgs''
Which once in olden time
O'er Ayr's broad stream held dispute high,
Unheard by ears save thine.
I've the spot where all too late,
At night, mid storm and rain,
Bold Tam O'Shanter started forth
His distant home to gain.
Through that same window haye gazed
Where, drawn by mrths leAd din,
He dared unholy sights to
That holy kirk within.
I've run with him that fearful race;
O'er that swift streamlet pass'd;
| Where IS Maggie met the cruel loss
| Which saved poor Tam at last
And have heard thy murmurs sweet
Oh bonnie bonnie Doom
! And trod upon the fresh green banks
! Which makes thy beauty's crown.
The 'sfowering thorn" still scents the vale;
/ The ''warbling birds - there;
/ But where art thou the life and soul
OF all these scenes so fair!
It's very strange! Thou art not dead,
oh wondrous poet, Burns!
Pm meeting thee in every place
To which my footstep turns.
Thou breaths st in all! thou livst in all!
And, with familiar tone,
Men speak of Robins gifts and flaws:
Where then, has Robin gone?
All! he grew weary of the world;
His earthly robe of care,
Or twas too heavy tor his soul,
Or he knew not to wear;
And so it was removed and he,
Freed from its dragging train,
r Unseen, pervades each spot, and lives
In each loved haunt again,
: And in his lighter, purer guise
Forgets past want and woe
And around his honest verse,
Fame's brightest fowrets grow.
Oh bonny Robin Robin Burns!
Long shall the banks of Ayr,
And ripping Doom, proclaim to all
Thou still art living there
July l. 1854.