Editors

'Mid crowded obelisks and urnsI sought the untimely grave of Burns;Sons of the Bard, my heart still mournsWith sorrow true;And more would grieve, but that it turnsTrembling to you! Through twilight shades of good and illYe now are panting up life's hill,And more than common strength and skillMust ye display;If ye would give the better willIts lawful sway. Hath Nature … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 IV. To The Sons Of Burns – After Visiting The Grave Of Their Father, By: William Wordsworth

Too frail to keep the lofty vowThat must have followed when his browWas wreathed, "The Vision" tells us howWith holly spray,He faltered, drifted to and fro,And passed away. Well might such thoughts, dear Sister, throngOur minds when, lingering all too long,Over the grave of Burns we hungIn social griefIndulged as if it were a wrongTo seek relief. But, leaving each unquiet … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 III. Thoughts Suggested The Day Following, On The Banks Of Nith, Near The Poet’s Residence, By: William Wordsworth

SEVEN YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH I shiver, Spirit fierce and bold,At thought of what I now behold:As vapours breathed from dungeons cold,Strike pleasure dead,So sadness comes from out the mouldWhere Burns is laid. And have I then thy bones so near,And thou forbidden to appear?As if it were thyself that's hereI shrink with pain;And both my wishes and my fearAlike are … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 II. At The Grave Of Burns, 1803, By: William Wordsworth

The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plainsMight sometimes covet dissoluble chains;Even for the tenants of the zone that liesBeyond the stars, celestial Paradise,Methinks 'twould heighten joy, to overleapAt will the crystal battlements, and peepInto some other region, though less fair,To see how things are made and managed there.Change for the worse might please, incursion … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803, By: William Wordsworth

Now we are tired of boisterous joy,Have romped enough, my little Boy!Jane hangs her head upon my breast,And you shall bring your stool and rest;This corner is your own. There! take your seat, and let me seeThat you can listen quietly:And, as I promised, I will tellThat strange adventure which befellA poor blind Highland Boy. A 'Highland' Boy!, why call him so?Because, my … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803, By: William Wordsworth