make a tour in Scotland, August [14th]. Poor Coleridge was at that time
in bad spirits, and somewhat too much in love with his own dejection,
and he departed from us, as is recorded in my sister's Journal, soon
after we left Loch Lomond. The verses that stand foremost among these
memorials were not actually written for the occasion, but transplanted
from my Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont.

242. *_To the Sons of Burns after visiting the Grave of their Father_.
[iv.]

See, in connection with these verses, two other poems upon Burns, one
composed actually at the time, and the other, though then felt, not put
into words till several years afterwards [viz. 'At the Grave of Burns,
1803, Seven Years after his Death (II.);' and 'Thoughts suggested the
Day following, on the Banks of Nith, near the Poet's Residence.' (III.)
Another Note in I.F. MSS. is nearly the same as this: viz. To be printed
among the Poems relating to my first Tour in Scotland: for illustrations
see my Sister's Journal. It may be proper to add that the second of
these pieces, though _felt_ at the time, was not composed till many
years after].

243. *_Ellen Irwin, or the Braes of Kirtle_. [v.]

It may be worth while to observe, that as there are Scotch poems on this
subject, in the simple ballad strain, I thought it would be both
presumptuous and superfluous to attempt treating it in the same way; and
accordingly, I chose a construction of stanza quite new in our language;
in fact, the same as that of Buergher's 'Leonora,' except that the first
and third lines do not in my stanzas rhyme. At the outset, I threw out a
classical image, to prepare the reader for the style in which I meant to
treat the story, and so to preclude all comparison. [Note.--The Kirtle
is a river in the southern part of Scotland, on the banks of which the
events here related took place.]

244. *_To a Highland Girl_. [VI.]

This delightful creature, and her demeanour, are particularly described
in my sister's Journal. The sort of prophecy with which the verses
conclude has, through God's goodness, been realised; and now,
approaching the close of my seventy-third year, I have a most vivid
remembrance of her, and the beautiful objects with which she was
surrounded. She is alluded to in the poem of 'The Three Cottage Girls,'
among my continental memorials. In illustration of this class of poems,
I have scarcely anything to say beyond what is anticipated in my
sister's faithful and