Washington sentinel. [volume] (City of Washington [D.C.]) 1853-1856, 1856-02-28
Robert Burns.

The following lines were written by Oliver
Wendell Holmes for the Burnss Festival, held in
Boston:
have come with the rest, / can hardly tell why,
With line l will read you before il is dry;
| know Pve no business among you, full well,
But I'm here, Notwithstanding, and how, will
tell
Il was not a billet, beginning Dear SIR
No missve like that would have coaxed me 10
stir;
Nor ticket, announcing the " on" and the att
And /" requesting the honor,"-'twas better than
that
II was done by a visit from one that you know,
Whose smile is unchiled by lifes season Of snow,
Whose voice is 80 winning. resist you may,
You must do hat il says, for il will have its way.
Ii is true that at first began TO suggest,
should SIT like a stranger, apart from the rest;
But he said, To no clan is our banquet confined
For the heart of the poet belongs to mankind"
Then tmidly asked" Can run, at pinch,
If our friends from the Old World have learned
how TO lynch ?"
For thought with dsmay of the Know-nolhng
crew,
And fancied a ye-"H He's Know no. hing
thought OF old Porteus, of Hare and of Burke !;
remembered the witches of Alloway Kirk;
Why bless you he said, with smile, "ifyou're
!, cotched
You will never be killed you will only be Seotcledr,
So came, and I'm here, with line, as said
don't mean the verses that just have been read,
But the ones in my pocket, and so, if you please,
You shall hear them at once, if you'll pardon me
these.
The mountains glitter in the snow,
A thousand leagues assunder;
Yet here amid the banquet's glow,
| hear their voice of thunder;
Each giants ice bound goblet clinks
flowing stream is summoned;
Wachusett TO Ben Nevis drinks;
Monadnock TO Ben Lomond
Though years have clipped the eagles plume,
That crowned the Cheftain's bonner,
The sun stl sees the heather bloom
The silver mists be on IL
With tartan kilt and phabeg,
What strife was ever holder
Than his that showed the naked leg
Beneath the plaided shoulder.
The echoes sleep on Cheviot's hills,
That heard the bugles blowing,
When down their sides the crimson rills
With mingled blood were flowing;
The hunts where gallant hearts were game
The cashing on the border
That raid that swooped with sword and fame,
Give place 10 law and order"
Not while the rocking steeples reel,
With midnight tocsins ringing,
Not while the crashing war notes peal,
God sets his poets singing;
The bird is silent in the night,
Or shrieks cry of warning,
While futtering round the beacon-light,
But hear him greet the morning.
The lark OF Scota's merning sky
Whose voice may sing his praise
With Heavens own sunlight in his eye,
He walked among the daisies,
Till through the cloud OF fortunes wrong
He scared TO fields Of glory;
But left his land her sweetest song,
And earth her saddest story.
'Tis not the forts the builder piles
That chain the earth together;
The welded crowns, the sister isles,
Would laugh al such an ether;
The kindling thought, the throbbing words
That set the pulses beating,
Are stronger than the myriad swords
or mighty armies meeting.
Thus, while within The banquet CLOVIS,
Without the wild winds whistle,
We drink triple health-Tbe Rose
The Shamrock and the Thistle
Their blended hues shall never fade,
Till War has hushsd his cannon,
Closed twined IA Ocean currents braid
The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon!