HOGG. THE POET AND HIS POETRY. [JAMES HOGG, the Ettrick Shepherd, was born on the banks of the river Ettrick, and passed his early years as a shepherd. Here among the wild mountain scenery of his native county, he partook of education from God and nature. He consulted few other books beside the volume of creation, and the book of inspiration; from these he drew some of that "celestial fire," which never dies, and thus became a poet. His first publication was the "Mountain Bard," this was followed by the "Queen's Wake," the "Witch of Fife," and "Queen Hynde." He also wrote several prose works which have been favorably received by the public. There are few names of greater honor to his country; he stands next to Burns as a self educated poet, and while one is remembered the other will not be forgotten.] EXTRACTS FROM HOGG. THE SKY-LARK. Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Light be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blessed is thy dwelling-place! O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day; Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, hie, hie thee away. Then when the gloaming comes, Bless'd is thy dwelling-place! O to abide in the desert with thee! INTERPRETATION OF THE LARK'S SONG. Oh, my love is bonny and mild to see, O, my love is bonny, and young, and chaste, The linty's cheip a ditty tame, And the shiltfa's everlasting rhame; The plover's whew a solo drear, And the whilly-whaup's ane shame to hear; And whenever a lover comes in view She covers beneath her screwn of dew. O, my love is bonny: her virgin breast KEATS. THE POET AND HIS POETRY. [JOHN KEATS was of very humble origin; he however received the rudiments of a Classical Education. His poetry first appeared in the Examiner newspaper, and the author having thus identified himself with party became the victim of literary persecution, and his death which happened at an early age is attributed in part to the ungenerous way in which he was assailed. Keats was the friend of Shelley, who admired him both on account of his generous disposition and his extraordinary genius, and it is said that the latter died with a volume of Keats's poetry in his bosom. The poetry of Keats is in the strictest sense of the word beautiful, it is a perpetual feast of intellectual enjoyment to the reader, and breathes with every thing that is elevating, cheering, and heavenly.] EXTRACTS FROM KEATS. ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE. My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, FF O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth ! That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, Darkling I listen; and, for many a time, I have been half in love with easeful Death, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain- Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! The same that ofttimes hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music :-Do I wake or sleep? TO AUTUMN. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; |