The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1870-06-02
lFrom the Marietta Times.l
ROBERT BURNS.


At the Burns,Festival in Philadelphia. Janua
! ry 25th, 1869, John D. Stockton read the follow
| ing beautiful tribute to the memory OF the AyI
| shire peasant poet. To our mind il is a noble
| poem than many Of the "prize Odes" ELECTED b
| the Centennial Anniversary of the previous yea
| We republish IL at the request Of members
| the recent editorial Convention who heard tt
| writer recite some portions oft:
Men say: On such day was born
| Shakespeare, or Burns. And thenceforth Fart
| Enrolls among her festivals
! The hour that gave the poet birth,
| And here, men say, he lived and died
| And 10! the world with steadfast eyes,
Large with their love, looks sadly on
The grave wherein the poet lies.
And thencefOrth in that land one spot
is sacred; be 1t tower or cot
Be sure ii shall not be forgot
1T is the treasure of the land;
The PEASANTS pride; the peoples boast;
The pilgrims shrine from foreign strand,
Home of the heart, beloved the most.
And England hath her Avon fair,
And Scotland hath the Banks of Ayr.
It is no idle flattery;
1t is tine worlds deep sympathy
That wreatheS with flowers the poets brow
We honor our humanity
In praising wOrth,--aS we do now,
For one mans greatness makes the rest
More great his strength reveals our power;
His happier swiftness unrepressed,
Outstripped our speed, and stands before
And to the world cries, "Follow meW
The paths he found for us we trace,
For he, too, shares our destiny,
And, when he rises, lifts the race.
Like that we look upon, we grow
Look, then, on Truth and Beauty. These
Transform their lovers with the glow
Of their sublimer sympathies,
Until they change and move, and gleam,
Like those who In the sunset seem
TIanshgured in q fairy dream.
And those who Beauty serve, and Truth,
Think it not vain to honor them;
But weave with flowers and buds of youth
Their sharp and thorny diadem.
o! bathe with cool and fragrant bloom
The poets brow, for II may be
The quiet of that strange perfume
May breathe its soul on thee.
And England hath her Avon fair,
And Scotland hath the Banks of Ayr;
And sacred be the silver stream,
Still haunted by the poets shade,
And his poetic dream,
Sweet river, musical and low,
Where woods are wild, and wild flowers blow,
Forever flow and flow,
And image, in the waves below,
All beauty of the earth and air,
Bright stars that tremble as they glow
When the blue heavens of night are bare
Andlapse in murmurS soft and low,
Thy shadowy braes along
The music of thy lingering flow
Hath passed into his song. ..
For there the blossoms sweeter blow,
The fondest charms are fonder
Thy dreamy waters moving slow,
Through loVelier woodlands wander,
And there forever in the glade,
One summers day will tarry,
And still beneath the hawthorn's shade
He loves his Highland Mary.
lie was the kindllng eye inspired
To see; the lips inspired to speak; ...'
The passionate soul whose pulses fired
Words that were else too weak.
He to his daily labor brought
a double labor; hardly driven,
In earth and earthly souls be wrought,
But not in vain has striVen,-
The ploughman in the fields of Thought
And on the hills of heaven,
With one strong hand he grasped the plough,
And, with the other, fondly drew,
And pressed upon his burning heart,
The sweetest Tyre that Scotland knew.
And his was not u life unblest,
Nor his the cold mechanic art
He laid his head on Natures breast,
And heard the beating of her heart.
The beauty that from Natures breast
The poets soul receives,
Not like the moon in n lake at rest,
Unchanged in glory lives.
HetalIeth like n royal guest,
And as a prince he gives
He gives the rose fragrance new;
The bluCst sky deeper blue
And to the rainbow, thrOned in Heaven
And arched on drops of Diamond rain,
A light in which its splendOrs wane,
And not among the colors seven.
The Scottish poet to his land
This strange enchantment gave'
Twas God who made her mountains grand;
Twas God who made her children brave =
But he has made her mountains hOary,
The Highlands Of the earth;
Has given every stream a story,
And every cliffhistoric worth;
Has given every deed n name,-
Has set around her sons glory,
And gives her warriors-fame!