the imperishable memory of her
independence; with the character of her sons and daughters, simple as
water, but strong as the waterfall; with her snatches of old-world
minstrelsy, surely never composed by mortal man, but spilt from the
overflowing soul of sorrow and gladness; with her music, twin-born, say
rather one with her minstrelsy; with her fairy belief, the most
delicately beautiful mythology in the history of the human mind, and
strangely contrasted with the rugged character of her people, a people
of sturt and strife; with her heroic faith; with the graves of her
headless martyrs, in green shaw or on grim moor, visited by many a slip
of sunshine streaming down from behind the cloud in the still autumnal
afternoon. These, and all the other priceless elements of 'the auld
Scottish glory,' he--the national bard--compacted and crystallized into
a Poetry which, by innumerable points of sympathetic contact, carries
back into the national heart, by ever-conducting issue, the thoughts and
feelings which itself first gave forth to his plastic genius; and thus
there is an eternal interchange of cause and effect, to the perpetuation
and propagation of patriotism, and all that constitutes national spirit
and character.

"THEREFORE it was fitting that such a national tribute should be paid to
such a national benefactor."

STANZAS FOR THE BURNS' FESTIVAL.

BY DELTA.

I.

Stir the beal-fire, wave the banner,
Bid the thundering cannon sound--
Rend the skies with acclamation,
Stun the woods and waters round--
Till the echoes of our gathering
Turn the world's admiring gaze
To this act of duteous homage
Scotland to her poet pays.
Fill the banks and braes with music,
Be it loud and low by turns--
This we owe the deathless glory,
That the hapless fate of Burns.

II.

Born within the lowly cottage
To a destiny obscure,
Doom'd through youth's exulting spring-time
But to labour and endure--
Yet Despair he elbow'd from him;
Nature breathed with holy joy,
In the hues of morn and evening,
On the eyelids of the boy;
And his country's Genius bound him
Laurels for his sun-burn'd brow,
When inspired and proud she found him,
Like Elisha, at the plough.

III.

On, exulting in his magic,
Swept the gifted peasant on--
Though his feet were on the greensward,
Light from heaven around him