Morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven [Conn.]) 1848-1894, 1881-01-26

fsSae true his heart sac smooth his speech,
His breath like callar air,
His very foot has music in IT,
AS he comes up the stair.
And will see his face again
And will hear him speak
In truth I'm like to greet.
The cauld blasts o. the winter wind,
That thrilled through my heart,
They're a. blawn BY hae him safe;
Till death we'll never part.
But what puts parting in my head?
1t may be far ava
The present moment is our ain
The neist we never saw.
Now it is very evident that general express
sion of joy in the prospect of meeting again
a long absent dear one, is very different from
this presentation of a feeling which finds
music in his well-remembered step on the
stair and before he has time to reach and
open the door, rushes with lightning rapid
ty through the whole gamut of joy, expecta-
ton, hope, doubt incredulity, fear, sorrow
and back to joy again;
'.And will I see his face again?
And will hear him speak
I'm downright giddy wi the thought
In truth I'm like to greet"
And then, after the first inexpressible JOY of
the first meeting has somewhat subsidized,
while the poor long-aching heart is still held
fast in the strong arms of her husband, and
she clasps his neck, and gazes upon his face,
what flood of satisfaction, peace calm, Joy
and triumph is revealed in the words:
THE cauld blasts o. the winter wind,
Are a. blawn by = haze him safe'
And then how naturally, with that perversi-
present Joy with foolish imaginings of future
i'll. comes that other thought of a possible
other parting. And how natural the manner
of putting away the thought,
ut may be far avail
And how wise and beautiful the ending:
s'The present moment is our ain
The neist we never saw"
Nothing uninspired was ever written finer
than this. It touches, with the wand of a
wizard and the power of spell the expert
ence of every one who has known what the
sorrow of separation is, or what the Joy of
reunion is. Burns himself greatly admired
it, which shows what he considered the art of
expressing human feeling. His own poems
abound in illustrations of it.
But it is not merely in its expressiveness of
natural human feeling that the poetry of
Burns finds its greatest beauty and power
it is the fact that the feelings which it ex-
presses and awakens and approves are for the
most part noble feelings. Love, honor, truth
independence, hatred and scorn of what is
mean, hypocritical and insincere, apprecia-
ton of moral worth, kindness, gentleness,
charity, compassion, religion, are the themes
and natural products of the poetry of Burns.
He speaks to the conscience well as to the
d
health giving air in all his writings We
| grow softer, gentler, purer, kinder, more
charitable, large hearted while we read or
sing his words.
1t is true that he sometimes shocks us with
the boldness of his satire. but not those who
know the hypocrisy and cant with which he
came in contact. It is true that there is
sometimes bitterness in his words. but it is a
very mild and transient bitterness and those
| who know his history wonder only that there
was not more and of deadlier type. 1t is
| true that his poetry is impure, for the same
reason that his own life was irregular but it
should be remembered that much of what he
wrote was written in a spirit of fun and in
tended for private circulation only,
| and that his own editions of his
works were carefully weeded of OBJ
| jectionable expressions; next, that while his
poetry is often coarse, it is not like that of
Byron, and other poets prurient and provo
cative of impure imaginations and finally
that as compared with the poetry of his time
and the time preceding him. the poetry of
Burns is singularly unobjectionable. 1t has
been said of him that, Augustus found
Rome built of brick and left it built of mar
BILE, SO Burns found the songs of his country
icentious and vile and left them pure. In
general the themes of the poetry of Burns
are high, and the feelings which they express
and create are noble and elevating.
He sings of love, whose fame illumes
The darkness of lone cottage rooms;
He feels the force,
The treacherous undertow and stress
Of hayward passions, and no less
The keen remorse.
At moments, wrestling with his fate,
His voice is harsh, but not with hate;
The brush-wood hung
Above the tavern door lets fall
Its bitter leaf its drop of gall,
Upon his tongue
But still the burden of his song
Is love of right, dsdain of wrong;
Its master-chords
Are Manhood Freedom, Brotherhood
Its discords but an interlude
Between the words"
There are two other sources of the strange
power of the poetry of Burns, which 1 must
mention-its inimitabIe humor and its pro-
found pathos. 1t is full of light, hooking
humor and rollicking spirit of fun, which is
never understood, and has been sadly mis-
construed by that large and brilliant class of
people who cannot understand joke, but
which has greatly endeared it to those who
love to laugh.
For now he haunts his native land
As an immortal youth his hand
He sits beside each ngle-nook;
His voice is in each running brook
His presence haunts this room to might,
form of mingled mist and light
From that far coast
Welcome beneath this roof Of mine;
Welcome, this vacant chair is thine
Dear Guest and Ghost.'
the poetry of Burns lies in it's deep sadness,
its fathomless pathos, the shadows of grief
and pain which drift across it. The most
general and deepest human experience is that
of sorrow The smiles of men are on the
surface; the pain is deep within. Humor
amuses people; but there is that in their ex-
perience which responds in deep undertone
to plaintive music or pathetic poetry. At
heart the race is sad. And the poetry of
Burns penetrates to the very sources of the
profoundest emotions of the SOUL and opens
the fountain of tears.
For this power of his we are indebted to
his circumstances and to his sins, as well as
to his temperament. Various writer's have
expressed their sorrow that the life of Burns
could not have flowed in smoother channels,
and have dilated upon the wealth which he
might have contributed to the literature of the
world, if he had been in business point of
view more successful man. I must be
permitted to differ from them. As burly
farmer or prosperous exciseman Burns
would have done little. The wind makes the
sweetest music where it breathes over high
strung and aching wires. 1t was out of his
own sorrows that Burns drew the strength
and skill to wiring the heart of the world.
We could not even spare the follies of the
poet,-though these were fewer and smaller
than stupid enmity and his own foolish pre-
lenses have made them,-any more than we
could spare the sins of David; for in both
cases out of the penitence, remorse, anguish,
humility, despair, hope, charity for others
which these have produced haye grown some
of the noblest and most powerful blossoms Of
song.
If / have rightly analysed the character
of the poetry of Burns, is it surprising that
it has attained to such amazing popularity
and influence not only among his country