Barre evening telegram. (Barre, Vt.) 1898-19??, 1899-07-21

Integrity, his vigorous understanding, his
penetrating judgemnt of men and we know
not how much of those volcanic physical pas
slons that made the upheava and wreck of his
life. From his mother he took his milder and
sentler gifts, the dreamy mood-every sense
an avenue for the approach of beauty-a heart
Tor laughter and for tears. 1t was wonder
ful commingling. Yes it was that rare.
miraculous, perilOus mixture, man Of
genius. And this marvellously, delicatey
endowed mortal, what does fate do with him!
Why, she makes him pluughboy. of course.
II there had been any occupation more com
mon, more humble, more of the earth earthly,
doubtless she would have made him that.
For this man was born to be the interpreter
of beauty to the humblest and the mingling
of qualities that went to make his soul was
not more remarkable than the circumstances
that were to mould his life,-that were to
waken and disappoint his powers, to warm
and chill his heart, to make him feel the
whole pathoS of human fate, to suffer and
sing and triumph and fall and perish-and
then to live in the splendor of immortal youth.
No poet was ever made without suffering.
The birth Of song like the birth Of man HIM
self is birth of agony. Every gift enters by
the gate of pain.
Clearly bought, the hidden treasurer
Finer feelings can bestow.
Cords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,
Thrill the deepest notes of Woe"
The real trouble for Burns began when he
was old enough to fall in love- Some men
neverreach this age. Some reach very early
and never get by it; and tnat was the case
with Burns. 1t seems they had custom Of
giving TO each lad in harvest work lasse for
u partner. A thrifty Scotch notion, that J.
They know well enough how the lads pride
would make him work. Will anything make
hpy ar, La ba I,ni rafin ion pf
woman-es especially if it be THE woman! Well,
that is the way it began with Robert. He had
"a bonnie, sweet. sonsie lassie" for partner,
and of course he made her song. He could
do it while he worked. That is where he did
most of his singing. One day he was stocking
grain in friendly rivalry with neighbor lad.
"Im even with you today, Rob- said his
'for | made IL song while stookit.' He was
overworked i'll youth and carried to his grave
in face and figure the traces of that toll.
When the wrlting-master came to the village,
Robert went one week and Gilbert the
neXt-for they could not afford to pay two
fees nor could the farm spare both the boys at
once.
lie was always in love. | never counted up
the number of those to whom his love poems
are addressed. Some, no doubt, were verses
of compliment, but not many. 1t Is easy to
tell which.
sac fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ac fare Weel, alas for ever!
Had we ncvei loved sac kindly
Had we never loved sac blindly,
Never met--or never parted
We had neer been broken hearted"
Men do not write such verses A. those for
the sake of politeness. They come out of The
depths. shall not repeat the sad story of hI>
failures. You know it all-how he sat on The
penitonts stool Tor "sonsie smriing dear
bought Be,s"-how bonny Jean was brou., hit
to sorrow for his >ake-now he would have
given her all that he could then give, his
name, but her father spurned the offer and
dealt his pride the deepest wound he ever felt
how afterwards when prosperity and fame
had come and Jean came to his home, he fail.
ed to heed the happy resolve of his sony,-
81 hao wife my ain,
I'll care for naedody."
No flowers of verses not even those that he
could scatter, could make his maynard and
d,loyal course beautiful. But in the heaven
of his dark and cloudy life one love shines
like Il star-uis Highland Mary. He found
her at time when every tie that had bound
him TO others seemed to nave been brOlen
without his fault and against his Will. jean
herself appeared 10 have torsaken him. He
tad won little fame and gold by the pubic
alton of his poems and was almost ready
to cross the sea i'll search of /; happier future
II WAS then they met and loved, when b"ln
were Young and Tree and full of hope. and +,
seemed all before them. He loved her with
IN intensity of pure devotion before winch
all the other passions OF his life turn pale and
sue gave HIM back The unspeakabie wealth of
her maiden heart, sweet us flower and pure
as the dew of the morning. Following tic
beautiful superstition of the conutrv-iulk
they stood one on each eide of IL little noun
tain brook. holding the bible between them
to add sanctity to their vows. and pledged
themselves cternally to one ;nnother. IL l.,
the purest, sweetest, sadde>t passage in the
poets history. Death claimed his Mary-he
never saw her again-but he never forgot
that hour
"le banks, and braes and streams around
The castle o Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers
\ our waters never drumle!
There simmer first unfauld her robes
And there the Largest larry;
For there ! took the last farewell
o. my sweet Highland Mary"
The return of that day was always sacred.
Chou lina'ring star, with lessenng ray,
That lowest to greet the early morn,
Again thou usheres in the day
MY Mary from my soul was torn
That sacred hour can forget,
Can forget the hallows grove,
There by the winding AYR we met,
TO live one day Of parting love?
Still DER these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As stream their channels deeper wca- :"
All this was the real Burns. for this was
Burns at his best-and this is the Burns that
will live in the worlds regard not the de-
bauche but the lover of Highland Mary.
Who knows what his life might have been
under happier stars? lie died at thirty -seven
perhaps if he had lived the manly strength of
his nature would have siezed the rains at last.
Perhaps he might have fulfilled his own
witty prophecy in his address to the Dell"
And now. auld Cloot, ken we're thinkin'a
certain Bardie's rantin, drinking,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin
TO your black pit;
But, faith, he'll turn corner, nkin',
And cheat you yet"
1t is hard to think of one as lost whose heart
acknowledged Il touch of pity for the DEVIL
himself.
but far you wee, auld niclie ben! |
On, Wad ye tax thought au man!