Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/333

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315

Sonnet.
Written at the tomb of Shakspeare, Stratford-on-Avon.

A humble votary of the tuneful nine,
 To Shakspeare's tomb a pilgrim I repair,
 To yield the mind's deep adoration there,
And bow the knee at wisdom's proudest shrine!
Lo! where hath lingered, lost in wonder's maze,
 The ken of princes, and the glance of peers—
Lo! where have paused, in reverential gaze,
 The good and great of other climes and years—
Bend I, great shade! submissively to pay
 The unfeigned homage of one grateful heart,
To whom thy magic pages doth portray
 The boundless realms of nature and of art!
Allow this lowly tribute to the fame
Which shall to every age transmit thy honoured name

To Burns, While Living.
Dear Burns,
      Unkind I lo'e your lays,
In troth they merit mickle praise;
Weel may ye fare through a' your days,
            Ay pipe an' sing,
An' ne'er want either brose or clais',
            Or ony thing.

Wi' walth o' Greek and Latin lare
Some chields can hammer out an air;
But ane like you affronts them sare,
            An' proves wi' birr,
That nature can do ten times mare
            Thau apes o' her.

As Scotland's bard weel be ye kent,
I hope frae her ye'll ne'er he rent,
On proud Parnassy's birsy bent
            Lang may ye shine,
An' far an' near your fame be sent
            Though ilka clime.

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