Sighing I turned away; but ere Night fell I heard, or seemed to hear, 80 Music that sorrow comes not near, A ritual hymn, Chanted in love that casts out fear By Seraphim. [D] * * * * * VARIANTS ON THE TEXT [Variant 1: 1842. ... out of ... MS.] [Variant 2: But wherefore tremble? 'tis no place Of pain and sorrow, but of grace, Of shelter, and of silent peace, And "friendly aid"; Grasped is he now in that embrace For which he prayed. [a] MS.] [Variant 3: 1845. Well might I mourn that He was gone Whose light I hailed when first it shone, When, breaking forth as nature's own, It showed my youth 1842.] * * * * * FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT [Footnote A: It is dated thus by Wordsworth himself on three occasions, and the year of its composition is also indicated in the title of the poem.--Ed.] [Footnote B: Compare Burns's poem 'To a Mountain Daisy', l. 15.--Ed.] [Footnote C: See Burns's 'A Bard's Epitaph', l. 19.--Ed.] [Footnote D: Compare 'The Tomb of Burns', by William Watson, 1895.--Ed.] * * * * * SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT [Sub-Footnote a: See in his poem the 'Ode to Ruin'.--Ed.] The following is an extract from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal of the Tour in Scotland: "Thursday, August 18th.--Went to the churchyard where Burns is buried. A bookseller accompanied us. He showed us the outside of Burns's house, where he had lived the last three years of his life, and where he died. It has a mean appearance, and is in a bye situation, whitewashed.... Went on to visit his grave. He lies at a corner of the churchyard, and his second son, Francis Wallace, beside him. There is no stone to mark the spot; but a hundred guineas have been collected, to be expended on some sort of monument. 'There,' said the bookseller, pointing to a pompous monument, 'there lies Mr. Such-a-one. I have forgotten his name. A remarkably clever man; he was an attorney, and hardly ever lost a cause he undertook. Burns made many a lampoon upon him, and there they rest, as you see.' We looked at the grave with melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses. 'Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the way to steer, Yet runs himself life's mad career, Wild as the wave? Here let him pause, and through a tear Survey this grave. The poor Inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low And stained his name.'