Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE BURNS FESTIVAL, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR Poet's Biography First Line: Stir the beal-fire, wave the banner Last Line: In the wreath of burns's fame! Alternate Author Name(s): Delta Subject(s): Burns, Robert (1759-1796); Festivals; Fire; Poetry & Poets; Scotland; Success; Fairs; Pageants | ||||||||
I. STIR the beal-fire, wave the banner, Bid the thundering cannon sound, Rend the skies with acclamation, Stun the woods and waters round, Till the echoes of our gathering Turn the world's admiring gaze To this act of duteous homage Scotland to her Poet pays. Fill the banks and braes with music, Be it loud and low by turns That we owe the deathless glory, This the hapless fate of Burns. II. Born within the lowly cottage To a destiny obscure, Doom'd through youth's exulting spring-time But to labour and endure Yet Despair he elbow'd from him; Nature breath'd with holy joy, In the hues of morn and evening, On the eyelids of the boy; And his country's Genius bound him Laurels for his sunburnt brow, When inspired and proud she found him, Like Elisha, at the plough. III. On, exulting in his magic, Swept the gifted peasant on Though his feet were on the greensward, Light from Heaven around him shone; At his conjuration, demons Issued from their darkness drear; Hovering round on silver pinions, Angels stoop'd his songs to hear; Bow'd the Passions to his bidding, Terror gaunt, and Pity calm; Like the organ pour'd his thunder, Like the lute his fairy psalm. IV. Lo! when clover-swathes lay round him, Or his feet the furrow press'd, He could mourn the sever'd daisy, Or the mouse's ruin'd nest; Woven of gloom and glory, visions Haunting throng'd his twilight hour; Birds enthrall'd him with sweet music, Tempests with their tones of power; Eagle-wing'd, his mounting spirit Custom's rusty fetters spurn'd; Tasso-like, for Jean he melted, Wallace-like, for Scotland burn'd! V. Scotland!dear to him was Scotland, In her sons and in her daughters, In her Highlands, Lowlands, Islands, Regal woods, and rushing waters; In the glory of her story, When her tartans fired the field, Scotland! oft betray'dbeleaguer'd Scotland! never known to yield! Dear to him her Doric language, Thrill'd his heart-strings at her name; And he left her more than rubies, In the riches of his fame. VI. Sons of England!sons of Erin! Ye who journeying from afar, Throng with us the shire of Coila, Led by Burns's guiding-star Proud we greet youye will join us, As, on this triumphant day, To the champions of his genius Grateful thanks we duly pay CurrieChambersLockhartWilson Carlylewho his bones to save From the wolfish fiend, Detraction, Couch'd like lions round his grave. VII. Daughter of the Poet's mother! Here we hail thee with delight; Shower'd be every earthly blessing On thy locks of silver white! Sons of Burns, a hearty welcome, Welcome home from India's strand, To a heart-loved land far dearer, Since your glorious Father's land! Words are worthlesslook around you Labour'd tomes far less could say To the sons of such a father, Than the sight of such a day! VIII. Judge not ye, whose thoughts are fingers, Of the hands that witch the lyre Greenland has its mountain icebergs, Ætna has its heart of fire; Calculation has its plummet; Self-control its iron rules; Genius has its sparkling fountains; Dulness has its stagnant pools; Like a halcyon on the waters, Burns's chart disdain'd a plan In his soarings he was Heavenly, In his sinkings he was man. IX. As the sun from out the orient Pours a wider, warmer light, Till he floods both earth and ocean, Blazing from the zenith's height; So the glory of our Poet, In its deathless power serene, Shines, as rolling time advances, Warmer felt, and wider seen: First Doon's banks and braes contain'd it, Then his country form'd its span; Now the wide world is its empire, And its throne the heart of man. X. Home returning, each will carry Proud remembrance of this day, When exulted Scotland's bosom Homage to her Bard to pay; When our jubilee to brighten, Eglinton with Wilson vied, Wealth's regards and Rank's distinctions For the season set aside; And the peasant, peer, and poet, Each put forth an equal claim, For the twining of his laurel In the wreath of Burns's fame! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FESTIVAL OF GIOVEDI GRASSO by MATTHEA HARVEY I DEFINE THE DARKNESS CORRECT: THE FESTIVAL OF THE FRERES LUMIERES by ELENI SIKELIANOS THE DANCE (2) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 1. THE BALLAD-SINGER by THOMAS HARDY AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 2. FORMER BEAUTIES by THOMAS HARDY AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 3. AFTER THE CLUB-DANCE by THOMAS HARDY AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 4. THE MARKET-GIRL by THOMAS HARDY AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 5. THE INQUIRY by THOMAS HARDY AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 6. A WIFE WAITS by THOMAS HARDY THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR |
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