The daily exchange. [volume] (Baltimore, Md.) 1858-1861, 1859-01-28
THE BURNS FESTIVAL IN BOSTON.
SPEECH OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

SPEECH OF RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
Mr.. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN: | do not know
by what untoward accident it has chanced-and /
forbear to nquire-that, in this accomplished cir
Gle, it should fall to me, the worst Scotsman of all,
to receive your commands and at the latest hour,
too, to respond to the sentiment Just offered and
which indeed makes the occasion. But | am told
that there is appeal, and must trust to the in
sprations of the theme to make fitness which
does not otherwise exist.
Yet, Sir, heartily feel the singular claims of the
occasion. At the first announcement, from know
not whence, that the 25th of January was the hun
dredth anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, a
sudden consent warmed the great English race, in
all its Kingdoms, colonies and States, all over the
world, to keep the festival.
We are here to hold our parliament with love and
poesy, as men were wont to do in the middle ages
Those famous parliaments might or might not have
had more stateness and better singers than We
though that is yet to be known but they could
not have better reason.
| can only explain this singular unanimity in
race which rarely acts together, but rather after
their watchword, each for himself, by the fact that
Robert RurnH, tho poet of the middle class, repre-
sents in the mind of to-day that great uprising
OF the middle class against the armed and privi-
legged minorities-that uprising which worked po-
lltically in the American and French Revolutions
and which, not in governments much as in edu-
cation and in social ORDER has changed the face of
the world.
In order for this destiny his birth, breeding and
fortunes were low. His organic sentiment was alb
s0lute independence, and resting, as it should on a
life OF labor. No man existed who could look down
on him. They that looked into his ewes saw that
they might look down the sky as easily. His muse
and teaching was common sense-joyful, aggressive,
irresistible.
Not Latimer, not Luther struck more telling
blows against False Theology than did this brave
singer. The "Conession of Augsburg" the "'De-
claration of independence, the French ''Rights of
Man" and the "Marseillaise," are not more
weghty documents in his history of freedom than
the songs of Burns. His satire has lost none of its
vet thrOu0h
air.
He is substantially reformer that | find his
grand plain sense in close chain with the greatest
masters-Rabelais, Shakespeare in comedy, Ger
Vantes, Butler and Burns. If should add another
name, L find it only in living countryman OF
Burns lie is an exceptional genius The people
who care nothing for literature and poetry care for
Burns. 1t was Indifferent, they thought who saw
him, whether he wrote not; he could have
done anything else well.
Yet how true poet is he like! And the poet too,
of poor men, ofgray holden, and the Guernsey coat
and the blouse. He has given voice to all the ex-
perences of common life; he has endeared the
mhouse and cottage, patches and poverty, beans
and barley ale the poor mans wine; hardship, the
fear of debt, the dear society of and wife, of
brothers and sisters, proud of each other knowing
so few, and finding amends for want and obscurity
in books and thought. What a love of nature,
and, shall | say it, of middleclass nature Not
great Goethe, in the stars, or like Byron, on the
ocean, or Moore in the luxurious East-but in the
homely landscape which the poor see around them
bleak leagues OF pasture and stubbe ice, and sleet
and rain, and snow-chOked brooks birds, hares
feld-mice, thistles and heather, which he daily
knew. How many 'Bonny Doons," and 'John
Anderson my joes," and "Auld Lang Synes," all
around the earth have his verses been applied to.
And his lovesongs still and melt the youths
and maids; the farm-work, the country holiday,
the fishing coble, still his debtors to-day.
And as he was thus poet of poor, anxious, cheer
tul, working humanity, so he had the language OF
low life. He grew up in a rural district, speaking
potois unintegble to all but natives, and he has
made that lowland Scotch Doric dialect of fame.
1t is the only example in history oa language made
classic by the genius of single man. But more
than this, he had that secret genius to draw from
the bottom of society the strength of its speech,
and astonish the of the polite with these artess
words, better than art and filtered of all offence
through his beauty. 1t seemed odious to Luther
that the devil should have all the best tunes; he
would bring them into the churches; and Burns
| knew how to take from fairs and gypsies, black
smiths and drovers, the speech of the market and
| street. and clothe it with melody.
! But | am OBTAINING you too long. The memory
| of Burns! | am afraid, heaven and earth have
taken too good care of it, to leave anything to
say. The west winds are murmuring it. Open the
windows behind you, and hearken for the inc0m-
ing tide what the waves say Of it. The doves
perching always on the of the stone chapel OPP
posite, may know something about it. Every name
in broad Scotland keeps his fame bright The memo
ry OF Burns-every mans, and boys and girls
head carries snatches of his songs, and can say
them by heart, and, what is strangest of ALL never
learned them from book, but from mouth to
mouth The wind whispers them, the birds whistle
them the corn, barley, and bulrushes hoarsey rus
tie them; nay, the music boxes at Geneva are
framed and toothed to play them; the hand organs
of the Savoyards in all cities repeat them, and the
chimes of bells ring them in the spires. They are
the property and solace of mankind.