ble themes allied to them, sunk into the depths of his heart, and images of them reascended thence into living and imperishable light.

There is a pathetic moral in the imperfect character of Burns, both as a poet and a man; nor ought they who delight both in him and his works, and rightly hold the anniversary of his birth to be a day sacred in the calendar of genius--to forget, that it

was often the consciousness of his own frailties that made him so true a painter of human passions-that he often looked with melancholy eyes to that pure and serene life from which he was, by his own imprudence, debarred -that innocence, purity, and virtue, were to him, in the happiest hours of his inspiration, the fair images of beings whose living presence he had too often shunned and that the sanctities of religion itself seem still more sanctified, when they rise before us in the poetry of a man who was not always withheld from approaching with levity, if not with irreverence, her most holy and mysterious altars.

We should be afraid of turning from so great a national poet as Burns, to à living genius, also born like him in the lower ranks of life, were we not assured that there is a freshness and originality in the mind of the Ettrick Shepherd, well entitling him to take his place immediately after

"Him who walked in glory and in joy, Following his plough upon the mountain

side."

The truth is, that the respective characters of their poetry are altogether separate and distinct; and there can be nothing more delightful than to see these two genuine children of Nature following the voice of her inspiration into such different haunts, each happy in his own native dominions, and powerful in his own legitimate rule.

And, in the first place, our admirable Shepherd is full of that wild enthusiasm towards external nature, which would seem to have formed so small a part of the poetical character of Burns-and he has been led by that enthusiasm to acquire a far wider and far deeper knowledge of her inexhaustible wonders. He too passed a youth of poverty and hardship-but it was the youth of a lonely shepherd among the most beautiful pastoral vallies in the world, and in that soVOL. IV.

how

litary life in which seasons of spirit-
stirring activity are followed by sea-
sons of contemplative repose,
many years passed over him rich in
impressions of sense and in dreams
His haunts were among
of fancy.
scenes

"The most remote, and inaccessible
By shepherds trod ;"

And living for years in the solitude,
he unconsciously formed friendships
with the springs-the brooks-the
-the hills-and with all the more

caves

fleeting and faithless pageantry of the
sky, that to him came in the place of

those human affections from whose in-
dulgence he was debarred by the ne-
cessities that kept him aloof from the
cottage fire, and up among the mists on
the mountain-top. His mind, there-
fore, is stored with images of nature
dear to him for the recollections which
they bring-for the restoration of his
earlier life. These images he has, at
all times, a delight in pouring out-
very seldom, it is true, with much se-
lection, or skill in the poet's art-so that
his pictures in landscape are generally
somewhat confused-but in them all
there are lines of light, or strokes of
darkness, that at once take the imagi-
nation, and convince us that before
a poet's eye had travelled the sunshine
or the shadow. Open a volume of
Burns-and then one of the Ettrick
Shepherd-and we shall see how sel-
dom the mind of the one was visited
by those images of external nature
which in that of the other find a con-
stant and chosen dwelling-place.

Secondly, We shall find, that in his delineations of human passions, Burns drew from himself, or immediately from the living beings that were. "toiling and moiling" around him; and hence, their vivid truth and irresistible energy. But the Ettrick Shepherd is, clearly, a man rather of kind and gentle affections than of agitating passions-and his poetry, therefore, when it is a delineation of his own feelings, is remarkable for serenity and repose. When he goes out of himself— and he does so much more than Burnshe does not paint from living agents in the transport of their passions-from the men who walk around him in this our every-day world; but he rather loves to bring before him, as a shepherd still in his solitude, the far-off images of human life, dim and shadowy as dreams-and to lose him 3 X

528

in a world of his own creation, filled with all the visionary phantoms of poetical tradition.

Accordingly, in his poetry, we have but few complete pictures of which the intensity of mere human passions or feelings constitutes the merit and the charm-as in so many of the compositions of Burns; and, therefore, he never can become so popular a poet, The nor does he deserve to be so. best poetry of Burns goes, sudden as electricity, to the heart. Every nerve in our frame is a conductor to the fluid. The best poetry of the Ettrick Shepherd rather steals into our souls like music; and, as many persons have no ear for music, so have many persons no soul for such kind of poetry. Burns addressed himself almost exclusively to the simplest and most elementary feelings of our nature, as they are exhibited in social and domestic life ;he spoke of things familiar to all, in language familiar to all-and hence his poetry is like "the casing air," breathed and enjoyed by all. No man dares to be sceptical on the power of his poetry, for passages could be recited against him that would drown the unbeliever's voice in a tumult of acclamation. But we doubt if, from the whole range of the Ettrick Shepherd's writings, one such triumphant and irresistible passage could be produced--one strain appealing, without possibility of failure, to the universal feelings of men's hearts. But it is equally certain that many strains-and those continued and sustained strains too-might be produced from the writings of this extraordinary person, which in the hearts and souls of all men of imagination and fancy-of all men who understand the dim and shadowy associations of recollected feelings-and who can feel the charm of a poetical language, occasionally more delicate and refined, than perhaps was ever before commanded by an uneducated mindwould awaken emotions, if not so strong, certainly finer and more ethereal than any that are inspired by the very happiest compositions of the Bard of Coila.

Indeed we should scarcely hesitate to say that the Ettrick Shepherd had more of pure fancy than Burns. When the latter relinquished his strong grasp of men's passions-or suffered the vivid images of his own experience of life to fade away, he was any thing

but a great poet-and nothing en-
tirely out of himself had power bright-
ly to kindle his imagination, unless,
indeed, it were some mighty national
triumph or calamity, events that ap-
pealed rather to his patriotism than
his poetry. But the Shepherd dreams
of the days of old, and of all their
dim and wavering traditions. Objects
dark in the past distance of time have
over him a deeper power than the bright
presence of realities-and his genius
loves better to lift up the veil which
forgetfulness has been slowly drawing
over the forms, the scenes, the actions,
and the characters of the dead, than
to gaze on the motions of the living.
Accordingly, there are some images-
some strains of feeling in his poetry,
more mournful and pathetic-at least,
full of a sadness more entrancing to the
imagination than any thing we re-
collect in Burns-but, at the same
time, we are aware, that though a few
wild airs, from an Eolian harp, per-
haps more profoundly affect the soul,
at the time when they are swelling,
than any other inusic yet have they
not so permanent a dwelling-place in
the memory as the harmonious tunes
of some perfect instrument.

But, thirdly, we have to remind such of our readers as are well acquainted with the poetry of the Ettrick Shepherd, that to feel the full power of his genius we must go with him

"Beyond this visible diurnal sphere,” and walk through the shadowy world of the imagination. It is here, where Burns was weakest, that he is most strong. The airy beings that to the impassioned soul of Burns seemed cold-bloodless-and unattractiverise up in irresistible loveliness in their own silent domains, before the dreamy fancy of the gentle-hearted Shepherd. The still green beauty of the pastoral hills and vales where he passed his youth, inspired him with ever-brooding visions of fairy-landtill, as he lay musing in his lonely sheiling, the world of phantasy seemed, in the clear depths of his imagina◄ tion, a lovelier reflection of that of nature-like the hills and heavens more softly shining in the water of his native lake.

Whenever he treats of fairy-land, his language insensibly be comes, as it were, soft, wild, and aerial-we could almost think that we heard the voice of one of the fairy

folk-still and serene images seem to
rise up with the wild music of the
versification-and the poet deludes us,
for the time, into an unquestioning
and satisfied belief in the existence of
those "
green realms of bliss" of
which he himself seems to be a native
minstrel.

In this department of pure poetry, the Ettrick Shepherd has, among his own countrymen at least, no competitor. He is the poet laureate of the Court of Faëry-and we have only to hope he will at least sing an annual song as the tenure by which he holds his deserved honours.

The few very general observations which we have now made on the genius of this truly original Poet are intended only as an introduction to our criticisms on his works. It is not uncommon to hear intelligent persons very thoughtlessly and ignorantly say, that the Ettrick Shepherd no doubt writes very good verses-but that Burns has preoccupied the ground, and is our only great poet of the people. We have perhaps said enough to shew that this is far from being the case-that the genius of the two poets is as different as their life-and that they have, generally speaking, delighted in the delineation of very different objects.

If we have rightly distinguished and estimated the peculiar genius of the "author of the Queen's Wake," we think that he may benefit by attending to some conclusions which seem to flow from our remarks. He

is certainly strongest in description of nature in the imitation of the ancient ballad-and in that wild poetry which deals with imaginary beings. He has not great knowledge of human nature nor has he any profound insight into its passions. Neither does he possess much ingenuity in the contrivance of incidents, or much plastic power in the formation of a story emblematic of any portion of human life. He ought, therefore, in our opinion, not to attempt any long poem in which a variety of characters are to be displayed acting on the theatre of the world, and of which the essential merit must lie in the exhibition of those passions that play their parts

there; he ought, rather, to bring before us shadowy beings moving across a shadowy distance, and rising up from that world with whose objects he is so familiar, but of which ordinary minds know only enough to regard, with a delightful feeling of surprise and novelty, every indistinct and fairy image that is brought from its invisible recesses. There indeed seems to be a field spread out for him, that is almost all his own. The pastoral vallies of the south of Scotland look to him as their best-beloved poet ;-all their mild and gentle superstitions have blended with his being;-he is familiar too with all the historical traditions that people them with the "living dead" and surely, with all the inestimable advantages of his early shepherd-life, and with a genius so admirably framed to receive and give out the breath of all its manifold inspirations, he may yet make pastoral poetry something more wild and beautiful than it has ever been-and leave behind him a work in which the feelings and habits-the very heart and soul of a shepherd-life, are given to us all breathed over and coloured by the aerial tints of a fairy fancy.

The love of poetry is never bigotted and exclusive, and we should be strongly inclined to suspect its sincerity, if it did not comprehend within the range of its enthusiasm many of the fine productions of the Ettrick Shepherd. We believe that his countrymen are becoming every day more and more alive to his manifold merits

and it would be indeed strange if they who hold annual or triennial festivals in commemoration of their great dead poet should be cold to the claims of the gifted living. It cannot but be deeply interesting to all lovers of genius-and more especially to all proud lovers of the genius of their own Scotland, to see this true poet assisting at the honours paid to the memory of his illustrious predecessor. He must ever be, on such high occasions, a conspicuous and honoured guest; and we all know, that it is impossible better to prove our admiration and love of the character and genius of Burns, than by the generous exhibition of similar sentiments towards the Ettrick Shepherd.

THE EXMOOR COURTSHIP,

From the best Editions, illustrated and compared, with Notes, critical, historical, philosophical and classical;

TO WHICH IS ADDED,

A PARAPHRASE IN MODERN ENGLISH VERSE.

[THE Exmoor Courtship is a dramatic pastoral, well known in the west of England, and, in all probability, as ancient as the time of Henry VII. Warton is of opinion that the "origin of the Bucolic might be discovered in the ancient Greek comedy, while the latter was in its most rude and unpolished state." The same may be affirmed of our own pastoral poetry. This union in our rude drama is apparent in Gammer Gurton's Needle, which was probably written towards the conclusion of Queen Mary's reign; at least, we know that it was exhibited at Oxford, in the year 1661, the third of Queen Elizabeth. It is chiefly composed, like the "Exmoor Courtship," in the west country dialect, which may be styled the English Doric. The characters are almost entirely pastoral, and Hodge, the hero of the drama, is most decidedly a genuine bucolic. In the succeeding reign of Queen Elizabeth, or rather towards its conclusion, this union no longer existed; and the Pastorals of Spencer, though they exhibit more of character than modern poems of that kind, are totally distinct from the dramas in her days.

This singular composition is invaluable to those whose intimate acquaintance with the provincial dialect in which it is written, renders its meaning easy and familiar. But to most readers of poetry it must be as a sealed fountain; and it it therefore hoped that the accompanying translation will enable them to penetrate and enjoy the spirit of the original. The Translator has converted the Moor-drivers and milk-maids of the forest into such nymphs and swains as whilom "roamed over Lyæus and Cyllene hoar," and dwelt beside the banks of the "Lilied Ladon." For, so capricious is modern taste, the same person will look with disgust on the representation of a Margery or Thomasin carrying a pitcher of water on her head from the Mole or the Linn, and with delight on a Galatea, or a Dione, or any of those pastoral nymphs who, in days of old,

"Were wont to bring

The weight of water from Hyperia's spring."

This literary metamorphosis was, however, undertaken chiefly with a view to entertain the classical reader, who will doubtless be no less pleased than surprised at perceiving the great similarity between the inhabitants of the Moor and the Grecian shepherds, as depicted by Theocritus; and he trusts the conjecture will be readily admitted, that our bard considered him as his model, and copied his beauties in the same manner as Rowley did those of Homer, as appeared to general satisfaction from the parallel passages adduced by some learned and dignified critics to ascertain that extraordinary circumstance.

The language of our bard corresponds with the Doric dialect, in which the Idyllia of Theocritus were principally written; and which, as his translator justly observes, was, of all others, best adapted to the subject, the characters, and simplicity of sentiment." "It possesses an inimitable charm that can never be transfused into the most happy translation; it has a modulated sweetness which melts upon the ear, at the same time that its wildness and rusticity often characterize the personages who use it." TRANSLATOR.]

THE EXMOOR COURTSHIP.

Persons.

ANDREW MOREMAN, a young Farmer
MARGERY VAYWELL, his Sweetheart
OLD NELL, Grandmother to Margery
THOMASIN, Sister to Margery

Scene-Margery's Home.

To Margery, enter Andrew.

An. How goeth it, cozen Margery?

Mar. Hoh! cozen Andra, how d'ye try? An. Come, let's shake hands, thof kissing be scarce.

Mar. Kissing's plenty enow: bet chud zo leefe kiss the back o ma hond es e'er a man in Chattacomb, or yeet in Paracomb; not dispreze.

An. Es dont believe thate, yeet es believe well too.

Mar. Hemph! oh, that vary vengeance

THE ARCADIAN LOVERS,

A Dramatic Pastoral.
Dramatis Persona.

CELADON, Lover of Pastora
PASTORA, a young Shepherdess
MELIBEA, Grandmother to Pastora
ATHENAIS, Sister to Pastora.

Scene-A Vestibule before an elegant Cof tage, with a picturesque View of the Coun try on each side.

Pastora coming from the Vestibule is met by Celadon.

Cel. How fares the lovely maid, Arca-
dia's pride,

To Celadon by kindred ties allied?
Pas. My gentle kinsman, hail!
Cel.
In friendship's sign
Will fair Pastora join her hand to mine,
Though, such the custom now and maiden
pride,

Its sweeter symbol, lip to lip's denied?
Pas. Ah, Celadon! too oft the guileless

maid

To such unseemly weakness is betray'd.
But be it never mine in that respect
Of decency the precepts to neglect.
Sooner than grant to the most lovely swain,
That roams by Ladon's banks or Tempe's
plain,

Such a salute, to this cold hand of mine,
In pride I speak not, I'd those lips confine.
Cel. Fond as I am, and easy to believe,
Not thus Pastora can her swain deceive.
[Salutes her.

Pas. Forbear, rude swain! ill fortune
and disgrace

This has been a symbol of love and friendship from the earliest ages. Thus, a deserted maiden, in Ovid's epistles, exclaims,

"Heus ubi pacta fides commissaque dextera dextrâ."

And thus Æneas receives his companions.

" Amicum

Ilionea petit dextrâ lævaque Segestum."

Achilles, as a mark of friendship, takes the Greek envoys by the right hand.

+ This word, differently accented, was in use in Queen Elizabeth's time,

"it was

A handsome pretty-custom'd brandy-shop

As any was in Venice, none dispraized." Volpone, A. 5.

i. e. No offence intended to the others by an implied degradation. The amiable trait of character in the no dispreze is but faintly imitated in the translation. It denotes, that at the same time in which she would be understood as holding the least approach towards indelicacy in abhorrence, which causes her warmth of expression, she would be extremely sorry if it was understood to proceed from any personal dislike to the swains of Paracomb or Chattacomb. She detracts not from their merits, nor wishes to degrade their characters by elevating her own. Her real aversion to improper liberties is again strongly marked in her following speech, as well as her secret attachment to Andrew, which makes her so soon forget her cause for resentment against him. A striking proof of our bard's intimate acquaintance with the human heart. And it is observable, that the endearments of An drew are less and less strenuously resisted as the drama proceeds.

A passage similar to this, and the conclusion of Margery's former speech, occurs in the opening of the xx. Idyllium: