Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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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.

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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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THK AUGUSTA SEMINARY ANNUAL. 17 If the poet had not had an eye trained by love to know every phase of the outer world we could not have such pic- tures. Even in Burns ' s most passionate poem, Mary iyi Heaven, — he cannot think of the heart-rending parting, without see- ing the Ayr, — O ' er hung with wild woods, thick ' ning green. The flowers that grew by the river bank, and the fra- grance of the hawthorn, are as indelibly impressed upon us as the parting words of his love. It was not in one, but in every poem that Burns showed his love for Nature ; Chaunce loved the Spring, the growing leaves, the flowers and birds; Burns loved all these too, but no more than he did the thunder-storm and the hurricane. The streams that fretted their channels were loved by him; the Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, was his pet. His tender heart was moved with compassion for the wounded hare; and at the sight of a field mouse with its nest in ruins, he stops his plow to pity the poor harmless creature exposed to the Winter ' s blast, and grieves that he is unable to help it. The little mouse was no better ofif for his grief, but no doubt that little song protected many another mouse from the same fate, and more than that, it has helped mankind to be better and wiser. There is some- thing very simple and unaffected in the closing verse of this poem where the poet cannot help moralizing, as the mouse ' s fate brings to mind his own, — he says truly and sadly, — Still thou art blessed, compared wi ' me ! The present only toucheth thee; But och ! I backward cast my e ' e, On prospects drear ! And forward though I canna see, I guess and fear. Fannie G. Ogier.