 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
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ROBERT BURNS.
My Musie, at your invitation,
Pricked up her ears with animation,
At thought of joining the oblation
For genius fled,
And shed a new illumination
Round Burns's head.
Pricked up her ears with animation,
At thought of joining the oblation
For genius fled,
And shed a new illumination
Round Burns's head.
Ah! rich the thoughts upon me stealing,
At this reflective hour's unsealing!
His name has wakened trains of feeling
That fire my soul,
The necromancy true, revealing,
Of his control.
At this reflective hour's unsealing!
His name has wakened trains of feeling
That fire my soul,
The necromancy true, revealing,
Of his control.
So sweet, so sacred, and so glowing,
The tide of his warm genius flowing!
The flowers beside its brink upgrowing
In beauteous art,
And the exhaustless compass showing
Of every heart.
The tide of his warm genius flowing!
The flowers beside its brink upgrowing
In beauteous art,
And the exhaustless compass showing
Of every heart.
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The gamut of our common being
His hand has struck, its music freeing,
And, joy or sorrow's cadence keying,
The world has blest,
And shadows from the spirit fleeing,
His power confest.
His hand has struck, its music freeing,
And, joy or sorrow's cadence keying,
The world has blest,
And shadows from the spirit fleeing,
His power confest.
Where heart to heart beats true and tender,
Where Nature smiles in richest splendor,
Where men to justice tribute render,
Where mirth is stirred,
Where virtue calls for a defender,
His tones are heard.
Where Nature smiles in richest splendor,
Where men to justice tribute render,
Where mirth is stirred,
Where virtue calls for a defender,
His tones are heard.
But sharp their note when fraud or lying
Against humanity are trying!
With more than scorpion venom vying,
His satire thrust
Pricks dark Hypocrisy to dying
In vilest dust.
Against humanity are trying!
With more than scorpion venom vying,
His satire thrust
Pricks dark Hypocrisy to dying
In vilest dust.
His heart alive to calls of pity,
His vivid mind of temper witty,
His pluck in fortune's struggles gritty,
His course he ran;
A stalwart type, in town or city,
Of regal Man.
His vivid mind of temper witty,
His pluck in fortune's struggles gritty,
His course he ran;
A stalwart type, in town or city,
Of regal Man.
Not perfect; ah! the lad was failing;
Temptation every side assailing,
Poor Virtue ofttimes unavailing
Made weak acclaim;
But let each tongue desist from railing—
We're much the same.
Temptation every side assailing,
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Made weak acclaim;
But let each tongue desist from railing—
We're much the same.
They may reproach whose dull blood never
Has rushed tumultuous as a river,
Who ne'er have felt the burning fever
Of Passion glow,
But kept 'twixt tranquil banks forever,
As cold as snow.
Has rushed tumultuous as a river,
Who ne'er have felt the burning fever
Of Passion glow,
But kept 'twixt tranquil banks forever,
As cold as snow.
But when the heart is warm and human,
With latent fires that threat consumin',
That glows with love for man or woman,
And limit spurns,
Sweet sympathetic beams illumine
The name of Burns.
With latent fires that threat consumin',
That glows with love for man or woman,
And limit spurns,
Sweet sympathetic beams illumine
The name of Burns.
O! rather his proud scoriac nature,
That lit with life each noble feature,
And warmed to every fellow-creature,
Than those dull souls
Which coldly dwarf themselves in stature,
Where self controls.
That lit with life each noble feature,
And warmed to every fellow-creature,
Than those dull souls
Which coldly dwarf themselves in stature,
Where self controls.
But time gives us assurance cheering
That ill in shadow disappearing,
Leaves all the good that was inhering
In grandest light,
For our approval and revering
This natal night.
That ill in shadow disappearing,
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In grandest light,
For our approval and revering
This natal night.
And here in votive love combining,
We meet, our myrtle wreaths entwining,
To deck his brow with lustre shining
For aye undimmed!
Whose worth in measure undeclining
Will e'er be hymned.
We meet, our myrtle wreaths entwining,
To deck his brow with lustre shining
For aye undimmed!
Whose worth in measure undeclining
Will e'er be hymned.
| Lines in Pleasant Places | |