y]
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies [winding]
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbies, [Dance]
Ye ken, ye ken,
That strang necessity supreme is
'Mang sons o' men.

The epigrams, epitaphs, elegies, and other occasional verses thrown
off by Burns and diligently collected by his editors need little
discussion. They not infrequently exhibit the less generous sides of
his character, and but seldom demand rereading on account of their
neatness or felicity or energy. One may be given as an example:

ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER

Here lies Johnie Pigeon:
What was his religion
Whae'er desires to ken
In some other warl' [world]
Maun follow the carl [Must, old fellow]
For here Johnie Pigeon had none!

Strong ale was ablution;
Small beer, persecution;
A dram was _memento mori_;
But a full flowing bowl
Was the saving his soul,
And port was celestial glory!

CHAPTER V

DESCRIPTIVE AND NARRATIVE POETRY

The "world of Scotch drink, Scotch manners, and Scotch religion" was
not, Matthew Arnold insisted, a beautiful world, and it was, he held,
a disadvantage to Burns that he had not a beautiful world to deal
with. This famous dictum is a standing challenge to any critic who
regards Burns as a creator of beauty. It is true that when Burns took
this world at its apparent worst, when Scotch drink meant bestial
drunkenness, when Scotch manners meant shameless indecency, when
Scotch religion meant blasphemous defiance, he created _The Jolly
Beggars_, which the same critic found a "splendid and puissant
production." We must conclude, then, that sufficient genius can
sublimate even a hideously sordid world into a superb work of art,
which is presumably beautiful.

But the verdict passed on the Scottish world of Burns is not to be
taken without scrutiny. A review of those poems of Burns that are
primarily descriptive will recall to us the chief features of that
world.

Let us begin with _The Cotter's Saturday Night_, Burns's tribute to
his father's house. Let us discard the introductory stanza of
dedication, as not organically a part of the poem. The scene is set in
a gray November landscape. The tired laborer is shown returning to his
cottage, no touch of idealization being added to the picture of