Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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THE AUGUSTA SEMINARY ANNUAL. 16 did not witness the despair and broken-hearted death of his loved master. But we are sad at parting with him, and can say with King Lear, of this tender, witty, faithful winning Fool: ' ' I have one part in my heart that ' s sorry yet tor thee. ' ' Virginia Lucas. Burns ' s Love of Nature as Shown in his Poetry. AT HEN WE THINK of the rough troubled life that Burns led, it is hard to realize that he was espe- cially the poet of Love and of Nature, and yet he was strong- ly influenced by the wild, touching beauty of the Scottish scener} ' . Do what We may, it is impossible to erase the im- pression that whenever the poet sang, his song came directly from the heart. There is something particularly beautiful in seeing this peasant poet ' s acquaintance with every sigh or smile of Na- ture ; there is not a glen or stream anywhere near his home that has not been immortalized by his song — the banks of Ayr, Doon, Afton, are as familiar to us as is the nearest brook. We see the sweet Afton, gliding from its source in the high hills, winding down, and passing by the house of his Ma 3 We know even better the banks of Ayr, for they seem to be so closely connected with all the poet ' s deepest sorrows. When we wander by these streams, we feel as if treading upon holy ground. Burns has described every phase of beauty or grandeur in Nature : the thunder-storm , when the wrath of heaven seemed turned upon the earth, or the summer loveliness, when the heavens laugh for joy, and the fields sing songs of peace. He has given us one particularly beautiful picture in gray, —

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14 THE AUGUSTA SEMINARY ANNUAL. warfare of animate and inanimate nature, in company with his master. Well is his devotion tested in the sad, eventful days that follow. Speaking to Kent, he says : That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form. Will pack when it begins to rain And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry : the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly ; The knave turns fool that runs away, The fool no knave, perdy. Now the King ' s troubles begin in all their frightful force, and henceforth his servant ' s only aim is to soothe and direct the mind weighed down by sorrow, constantly labor- ing to outjest his heartstruck injuries. How touching is the King ' s dependence on his Fool. When he leaves Goneril ' s castle, his last word is to him: so again at Gloucester ' s, in the bitterness of his grief, it is O fool, I shall go mad ! And in that weird and terrible scene where the old gray -haired L,ear braves the wild storm, and meets the half-clad madman, his love for the Fool is touching and pitiful. As they near a hovel, Lear says : In boy, go first, and as he seems to wait — Why get thee in. I ' ll pray and then I ' ll sleep. But the Fool rushes out terrified and trembling, and cries: Come not in here, Nuncle, here ' s a spirit. Help me, help me ! Then Kent says to the highstrung, delicate, sensitive creature: Give me thy hand. They enter and find Edgar, whose feigned madness adds to the wild effect of storm and tempest in na- ture and in the mind of the King. For now at last the dread insanity has come upon L,ear ; tenderly, lovingly, his Fool cares for him and humors his mad fancies. But we must leave the faithful friend of Cordelia, Kent and Lear. The King is borne to Dover, and as he departs, Kent says to the Fool : Come, help to bear thy master: thou must not stay behind. . Thus is recorded his last act of devotion. Perchance he perished on the long, weary trip ; we are not told. His presence in the final scenes might mar the beauty of Cordelia ' s grief and devotion, might detract from the terrible tragedy of the end. It is comforting to feel that he

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1 THE AUGUSTA SEMINARY ANNUAL. The glowing night is gathering fast, Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o ' er the plain; The hunter now has left the moor. The scatter ' d coveys meet secure. While here I wander pressed with care, Alang the lovely banks of Ayr. ' ' We see it all, the lonely man seeking for comfort in the storm, while the dull gray sky shows not one star to cheer. Again we have only gold and glory, as in the description of evening at Ballochmyle, when all earth and air is sinking into quiet rest. There are no long drawn comparisons or studied similies, but where a figure is used it is a gem fresh from the lap of Nature. The fables of Greece or Rome have no place in Burns ' s Works; his Love is not a Venus or a Diana, for he sings, — ' O myLuve ' s like a red, red rose That ' s newly sprung in June: O my Luve ' s like the melodie That ' s sweetly play ' d in tune. As fair thou, art my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And, I will luve thee still, my lassie, Till a ' the seas gang dry. In this tender love he almost seems to take Wordsworth ' s fancy and believe Nature alive. It is to her that this strong man goes when he would turn from his sin-stained life; un- der her influence he seems to have conquered, but as soon as he moves from her guiding hold, he is caught again in the snare of the world. We see him troubled; he stands thought- fully and sadly leaning over the little bridge at the glen, a young girl appears in sight — an apparition it seems to him, and he breaks into song describing the scene, — ' Twas even, — the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls did hang ! The Zephyrs wantoned round the bean. And bore its fragrant sweets alang; In every glen the mavis sang. All nature listening seemed the while, ' Except where greenwood echoes rang, Among the braes o ' Ballochm3 ' le.