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sword and flame; as no doubt he will. Great complaints have been made of this speech; but not exactly on the right ground. It tells only what was known before; the curiosity consists in its being told at all, and in language so remote from the established phraseology of sovereign paternity. In this particular the speech has merit, for nothing would have been more easy than its translation into the dialect of regality and diplomacy. It might have been fitted up as a very gracious imperial speech. We prefer it as delivered. We often hear of the fury of democracy, and do not object to such a frank exhibition, in the person of its great champion, of the excesses of the monarchical principle. In justice to royalty more happily situated, because more shorn of power, we cannot refrain from placing on our pages the following simple and affecting decree of the Queen Regent of Spain :

[FROM THE 'GACETA DE MADRID' of nov. 1.]

'ROYAL DECREE.

'If, on all occasions, it is grateful to my heart to dry the tears of the subjects of my beloved daughter, it is much more so when to this duty of humanity is united the sacred obligation of repairing past errors. General Don Rafael del Riego, who was condemned to an ignominious death by virtue of a decree issued subsequent to the act of which he was accused, and for having given a vote as a deputy of the nation, in which capacity he was inviolable, according to the laws then in force, and to the public rights of every representative government, was one of those victims whom, in moments of political crisis, fanaticism strikes with the sword of justice. At a period when those who, by their votes, manifested their approbation of the same proposition as was supported by General Riego, are filling distinguished posts, either in Parliamentary Assemblies or in the Councils of my august daughter, it must not be permitted that the memory of that General should continue to be sullied by the stigma of crime, or that his orphan family should be plunged in misfortune; in these days of peace and reconciliation between the defenders of the legitimate Throne and of Liberty, all bitter recollections ought to be, as far as possible, obliterated. I am desirous that this my will should, as regards my beloved daughter and her successors to the throne, be the bond by which, in the future annals of Spain, the inviolability of speech, propositions, and votes, made and given in the general Cortes of the kingdom, may be secured. I have therefore, in the name of my august daughter, Queen Isabel II., decreed as follows:

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Art. 1. The good name, fame, and memory of the late General Don Rafael del Riego are re-established.

Art. 2. His family shall enjoy the pension and widow's allowance to which they are entitled according to the laws.

Art. 3. His family is placed under the special protection of my beloved daughter, Isabel II., aud, during her minority, under mine. You will understand this, and communicate it to the proper authorities.

'Palace of the Pardo, 31st October, 1835.

'To Don Juan Alvarez y Mendizabal, President of the Council ad interim.

This touching confession of wrong, this attempt at atonement, speedy in a government, though it might be late in an individual, is worth a hundred legions to the Constitutional cause in Spain; and is an act of justice to past patriotism, the beauty of which should sink into the very heart's core of humanity.

F.

NICOLL'S POEMS.*

RIGHT worthy of the land and the language of Robert Burns are these songs of one on whom has descended no small portion of the glorious ploughman's inspiration. They are abundant in pathos, in humour, in fancy, in poetical description, and, above all, in just and nervous sentiment. They are songs which a truehearted man, or a woman with a mind, need not be ashamed of singing; and that is more than can be said of nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand of the things called songs, in which we seldom escape from what is very silly, unless it be to encounter something that is very false. The other poems have the same character with those which are strictly lyrical. All are imbued with a spirit which makes one proud of humanity; the more so, as we infer, from various indications, that they are the productions of one of the producing class, the work of a working-man, a fresh contribution to the poetry of the poor. The growth of such productions is amongst the most impressive signs of the times. Burns lived before the days of patronage had passed away; they are now clean gone, and for ever. His soul towered above his circumstances; but still he often wrote for his superiors; his successors write for their equals. As a bard, he was of the many, and for the many; but in them the mission has become more distinct, and the encouragement more direct and stimulating; nor does this limit the interest of their poetry. It has more of the quality of poetry than it could have were they in his condition. There is more truth and soul in it. It comes the more home to all humanity.

What little there is, in the author before us, of the factitious or conventional, is chiefly to be found in the love songs; with a slighter touch of it in the descriptions. Poets are slow to learn that it is by no means their duty to be poetical on all occasions or on all subjects, however legally established the poeticality of such occasions or subjects may be, by the old constitution of Parnassus. In the rightful democracy of song, or rather in its sacred individuality, its Pantisocracy, no man is obliged to say what he does not see, or sing what he does not feel. Poetry is not amanufacture; and the poet may not take an order for a song even from his own mind. His suspicions should always be awake

*Poems and Lyrics,' by Robert Nicoll.

when, instead of his feelings being unconsciously wrought upon, he catches himself saying to himself, that is a good subject.' But we must not run into a homily upon this matter, merely because we think one class of our author's poems not so excellent as another. Nor can we take upon us to lecture a Scotchman (as we take him to be) for his Scotch. Yet it does seem to us that some reformation is needed in the use of this northern Doric dialect. Burns, we believe, created the language of his poems out of the chaos of all sorts of lowland provincialism, with English, for a variety, when it better suited his purpose. And he managed it with the majestic ease of a creator. In truth it had, and to the skilful hand it has, a wondrous pliability. We are therefore less tolerant of an imperfect versification in its employment. And we think Mr. Nicoll indictable for the cacophony which often results from his elision of the last consonant in upon and of, which he always writes upo' and o'. Such lines as

or,

'She sat in the shade

O' a sweet-scented briar,'

An' the fiends o' earth an' the fiends o' air
Begouth to greet an' wail,'

are marvellously marred in their melody by the curtailment, and should be cured of their hitch by an infusion of f's. As they stand they sairly crook a body's mou'.'

We shall now give some specimens of these poems; and, much as we think they will approve themselves for true poetry, of the several classes to which they belong, it is but fair to say that they have been selected rather as exhibiting the peculiar characteristics of this volume, than as the best compositions which it contains.

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Who, born in want and poverty,

Burst from his fetters, and arose

The freest of the free,

Arose to tell the watching earth
What lowly men could feel and do—
To show that mighty heaven-like souls
In cottage hamlets grew.

Burns! thou hast given us a name
To shield us from the taunts of scorn;
The plant that creeps amid the soil
A glorious flower hath borne,

Before the proudest of the earth
We stand with an uplifted brow;
Like us, THOU wast a toil-worn man,
And we are noble now!

6

Inspired by thee the lowly hind
All soul-degrading meanness spurns ;
Our teacher, saviour, saint, art thou,
Immortal Robert Burns!'-pp. 46, 47.

II.

6 THE GRAVE.

By a kirkyard yett I stude, while mony entered in,
Men bow'd wi' toil an' age, wi' haffets auld and thin;
An' ithers in their prime, wi' a bearin' proud an' hie;
An' maidens pure an' bonnie, as the daisies o' the lea;
An' matrons wrinkled auld, wi' lyart heads an' grey;
An' bairns, like things o'er fair for Death to wede away.
I stude aside the yett, while onward still they went,-
The laird frae out his ha', and the shepherd frae the bent;
It seemed a type o' men, an' o' the grave's domain,

But these were living a', an' could straight come forth again.
And o' the bedral auld, wi' mickle courtesie,

I speer'd what it might mean, an' he bade me look an' see.
On the trodden path that led to the house of worshipping,
Or before its open doors, there stude nae living thing;
But awa' amang the tombs, ilk comer quickly pass'd,
An' upo' ae lowly grave ilk seekin' e'e was cast.

There war' sabbin' bosoms there, an' proud yet softened eyes,

An' a whisper breathed aroun'," there the loved and honoured lies."

There was ne'er a murmur there-the deep-drawn breath was hush'd— An' o'er the maiden's cheek the tears o' feelin' gush'd;

An' the bonnie infant face was lifted as in prayer;

An' manhood's cheek was flushed wi' the thochts that movin' were:

I stude aside the grave, an' I gazed upo' the stone,

An' the name of "ROBERT BURNS" was engraven thereupon.'

III.

'MINISTER TAM.

'A wee raggit laddie he cam' to our toun,

Wi' his hair for a bannet-his taes through his shoon;
An' aye, when we gart him rise up in the morn,
The ne'er-do-weel herdit the kye 'mang the corn.
We sent him to gather the sheep on the hill,
No for wark, but to keep him frae mischief an' ill;
But he huntit the ewes, and he rade on the ram;
Sic a helicat deevil was Minister Tam!

My auld auntie sent him for sugar an' tea,

She kent na, douce woman! how toothsome was he:-
As hamewith he cam' wi't, he paikit a bairn,

An' harried a nest doon amang the lang fern;
Then, while he was restin' within the green shaw,
My auld auntie's sugar he lickit it a':-

Syne, a drubbin' to miss, he sair sickness did sham;
Sic a slie tricksy shangie was Minister Tam!

PP. 47, 48.

But a carritch he took, when his ain deevil bade,
An' wi' learnin' the laddie had maistly gaen mad.
Nae apples he pu'ed noo-nae bee bikes he smored-
The bonnie wee trouties gat rest in the ford-
Wi' the lasses at e'enin nae mair he wad fight;
He was learnin' and spellin' frae mornin' to night.
He grew mim as a puddock and quiet as a lamb,-
Gudesakes! sic a change was on Minister Tam!
His breeks they war' torn, an' his coat it was bare,
But he gaed to the schule, and he took to the lear;
He fought wi' a masterfu' heart up the brae,
Till to see him aye toilin' I maistly was wae.
But his work noo is endit-our Tammie has grown
To a kirk wi' a steeple-a black silken gown.-
Sic a change frae our laddie, wha barefooted cam',

Wi' his wig white wi' pouther, is Minister Tam!'—pp. 63, 64.

IV.

" REGRETS.

Tak' aff, tak' aff this silken garb,
An' bring to me a' Hieland plaid :
Nae bed was e'er sae saft an' sweet
As ane wi' it, an' heather, made.
Tak' aff this gowd-encircled thing,
An' bring to me a bonnet blue,
To mind me o' the Hieland hills
That I hae left for ever noo.

Tak', tak' awa' this gaudy flower,
An' bring to me a sprig o' heather,
Like those langsyne, amo' the hills
O' hame and youth, I aft did gather.
For a' your luscious Indian fruit
Ae ripe blaeberry bring to me:
To be in braes whar' black they hing
There's nought on earth I wadna' gie.

O! tak' awa' this tinsel walth,

That wiled me frae my Hieland hame;
I cannot bear its glitter noo,-
For it I've played a losing game.
O! bring me back my youthfu' heart-
The eye an' hand o' long ago—
Tak a' I ha'e, but place me syne
Afar whar' Hieland waters flow!
O! for an hour o' youth an' hope—
Ae moment o' my youthfu' years,

Upo' the hills o' Scotland dear,

When I had neither cares nor fears.
I mauna seek, I mauna mane-

Before my fate I laigh maun boo,—

Bring walth-bring walth-till I forget

The time whan round me heather grew!'-pp. 68, 69.

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