Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

maintaining the old associations, and adorning the grounds—which are beautifully laid out, and slope down towards the river-we were all looking down on this lovely scene, when one of the young lasses of the party (who appeared to have had a day's holiday from service) could not contain her admiration, but burst forth frantically to her sweetheart, exclaiming, "Oh Willie, I could live here fine!"

[graphic][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

At the foot of the bridge is the Monument to the poet, which we afterwards went in company to visit; it was designed by Mr. Thomas Hamilton of Edinburgh, the architect of the New High School of that city, one of the most beautiful specimens of the modern classical school in Great Britain. Various relics of the poet are preserved in this fine structure: amongst others a fac simile of his letter to his Highland Mary, with the

[graphic][merged small]

Bible he gave her, also a lock of her hair; there is also a full-length statue of the poet by Flaxman, and in

C

a small grotto adjoining are the two famous statues of Tam o' Shanter and Souter Johnnie.

As we were leaving the grounds, we heard the keeper loudly remonstrating against some of our party's boisterousness; but there was one little thing connected with our humble friends, occurring at this time, the effect of which will take many a long day to efface from our memory—and that was, when they got to the top of the monument staircase, under the little roof, they commenced singing in concert, "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." They all seemed to know it well; and the roof echoed back the lovely melody, wafting it along the gale. What with the quiet loneliness of the surrounding landscape, the fineness of the weather, and their enthusiasm, we were tempted, in the fulness of our hearts, to exclaim, "This is indeed fame!" and if any thing had been wanting to confirm our opinion of Burus being the poet of the people, the little incident we had that morning been a witness to, would have settled the question.

[graphic]
[graphic][merged small]

B

UT we are bound to devote a chapter of its own to the bardic reminiscences and associations of the "banks and braes o' bonnie Doon," and the district and parish of Kyle, where, in the claybuilt cottage, reared by his father's own hands, the poet first opened his eyes to the light of heaven.

Among the bonnie winding banks,

Where Doon rins wimpling clear,

Where Bruce once ruled the martial ranks,
And shook his Carrick spear,

a greater "hunter of men" was destined to shake the more glistening and sharp-pointed spear of genius; and by his intellectual prowess, to rival all but Shakespear's name below.

As Shakspere himself perpetrated many a bad pun in his day, perhaps his ghost will pardon this one.

The early childhood of Burns was spent between this neighbourhood and that of the town of Ayr: and "here awa', there awa', wandering," the inspired child, follow

ing his GENIUS upon the mountain side, or among the wooded and haunted paths along the river side, was imbibing never-dying images, both of humour and pathos; of humour, as when he writes

There was a lad was born in Kyle,
But what 'n a day o' what 'n a style,
I doubt its hardly worth our while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.

The gossip keekit in his loof,

Quo' she, Wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be nae coof,—

I think we 'll ca' him Robin.

But sure as three times three mak nine,
I see, by ilka score and line,

This chap will dearly like our kin',

So leeze me on thee, Robin"

and of exquisite pathos, as where, inspired by sorrow, he exclaims, in strains which, though hackneyed by quotation, and their spirit profaned or dissipated by mechanical minstrels, and piano-strummers, whose music is only on their lips or in their fingers, will ever convey to the ear and heart, rightly attuned, a pleasing idea of gentle and yet not unmanly sentiment:

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair:
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary, fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

« AnteriorContinuar »