The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-01-24


Thou saw the fields laid bare an waste.
An weary winter comm fast,
An cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash, the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.
"But, mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best laid schemes o mice an men,
Gang aft agley,
An lea'e us nought but grief an pain,
For promised JOY.
With what loving pity he speaks of the
birds and beasts exposed to the storms and
hardships OF winter:
List ming the doors an winnocks rattle.
I thought me on the ourie cattle
Or silly sheep. wha bide this brattle
And through the drift, deep-lairing sprattle
Beneath scar.
Xix mapping bird. wee. helpless thing
That in the merry month o. spring,
Delighted me to hear thee sing,
What comes o. thee?
WHARF wilt thou c0W'r thy chittering wing,
An close thy ee?"
He mourns with tender feeling the fate
Of the wounded hare that some idle gunner
had crippled:
loft as by winding NTH musing wait
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,
I'll miss thee sporting DER the dewy lawn,
And curse the ruffians aim, and mourn thy
neipleSS rate.
With the matchless music of his rhythmic
utterance he has rendered indelible the
name of the plain and common Scotchman.
and we would all like to shake hands with
John Anderson, my 10, john" or the
"Cotter:''
we first acquaint.
Your locks were like the raven, your bon
ME brow was brent,
But now your heads turned bald, John,
your locks are like the shaw,
Yet blessings on your frosty pow, John
Anderson, my jo.
Would you like TO join the Cotter's cir
Gle around the ingle nook Saturday night?
1.-The cheerful supper done. wi serious face,
They. round the ingle, form circle wide;
The sire turns Ger, WI patriarchal grace,
The big ha' Bible. ance his fathers pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,
His lyart haffets wearing thin an bare
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion
glide,
And Let us worship God! he says, with
solemn air.
HIGHLAND MARY.
The deeper and better part of Burns's ma
ture was fully awakened when the Tyre of
love was touched by Highland Mary"
Their betrothal and parting were peculiarly
sad and pathetic. How exquisitely and ten
derby Burns writes of their farewell! Who
can read of their parting without sadness.
How rapidly the tears must have fallen as
the poet penned these lines:
Eye banks. and braes, and streams around
The castle o. Montgomery
Green be your woods and fair your now rs,
Your waters never drumlie.
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there they Largest tarry.
For there took the last farewell
O my sweet Highland Mary.
But with him her memory is ever green:
8 ,1oln 10 lpc
i aft haze kiss'd sac fondiy!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sac kindly;
And mould ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within this bosoms core
Shall live my Highland Nary
But il were better, far better for her,
that "rest on the star-lt shore" With the
divine gift of poesy Burns has forever en-
shrined the river that flows past her rest
ing-place:
Flow gently sweet Alton, among thy
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my
lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring
Flow gently, sweet Alton. disturb not her
dream"
How it must fire every true son of Scot
land when he reads Burns's Scots 'Wha
Haze wi Wallace Bled." What martial
ardor there is in those lines. and written by
him who was only a member of the Dunn
fries Volunteers:
"Scots wha haze wi Wallace bled!
Scots whaln Bruce has aften led!
Welcome to your CORY bed,
Or to victorie!
~wha. for scotland's king and law;
Freedoms sword will strongly draw.
Freeman stand. or freeman ia,
Let him follow me!
Tyrants fall in every foe,
Libertys in every blow,
Let us do or die
There is one ballad of good fellowship.
probably the outcome OF some rare occasion
at Tarboton or Caledonia Club, that is al
most as familiar as Home, Sweet Home:"
Should aud acquaintance be forget,
And never brought TO mind?
Should sud acquaintance be forgot,
And aud lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my 10,
For aud lang syne,
Well take cup o kindness yet,
For aud lang syne!
Although there is much in the private
life of Burns that we cannot commend. yet
when we attempt TO Judge his life-come
down to measure the man-we find q nature
far different from the ordinary. There is
that in him, whether imbued from the stern
poverty of his early life or the influences
of his environment or some warning ee
ment in his own being, we cannot say, but
certain 1t is that he was VanQuShed In the
battles he fought against self. 1T is easy.
says William Winter, Ito judge and con
denim the sins of weak. passionate hu
man!ty: but when we think of such Great
ures as Edmund Kean and Robert Burns
we ought to consider what demons in theil
souls those wretched men were forced tC
fight and by what agonies they expiated
their vices and errors.
With broad and deep sympathy for hu-
man kind in all their misfortunes. with sin
gular compassion and pity for the fate O
bird and beast and flower, Burns yet
lacked that element of character that en-.
ables one to overcome temptation and trial
and to conquer the warning passions tina
are found within the breast of every earth.
born child. IN judging such a soul, we car
only apply the words of this poet as ad
dressed to the ''Unco' Gud:'
'"rhen gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman:
Tho they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside Is human
One point must still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do it:
And just as 1amely can you mark,
How far perhaps they rue il.
''Who made the heart it's He alone
Decidedly can try us,
He knows each chord-its various tone,
Each spring-its various bias;
Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust 1t;
What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted
BEN ARDYs.
Iiterature Of Its Own.